


The Selkie and the Hound

by Littlefeather



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Mermaid Sansa, Selkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 47,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1250464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlefeather/pseuds/Littlefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for Kallielef: This is like Ondine/Little Mermaid/Splash combined. Sandor is a fisherman’s son who befriends a young seal (befriend I mean he feeds it, and the seal grows used to their interactions). One day while out at sea the fisherman’s boat catches fire, and his family is burned to death. The seal rescues him, and we discover (gasp), she’s a selkie! And then the whole ten years later… you get the idea.</p><p>This goes with her art found here:http://kallielef.tumblr.com/post/78062567052/ok-sketched-some-things-out-this-is-like</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kallielef](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Kallielef).



> I've tried to keep a faerie tale tone to this story and yet include canon elements of ASOIAF. Please let me know what you think.

Sandor always loved the ocean as a boy and the life of a fisherman was his destiny. From the time he could walk, he looked forward to the day he could join his father and brother in the family business.

The Cleganes were sworn to House Lannister of Casterly Rock, the large castle of the noble family that dominated the coastline of their sleepy little village. After Grandsire Clegane saved Lord Tytos, the Cleganes  were then gifted the honor being one of a few select families entrusted with providing the Lannister family with seafood.

His brother Gregor, already nearly seven feet tall, wanted  no part of it. He longed to be a knight and spent all of his spare time with the squires of Casterly Rock. The young man was gifted with brute strength and cruelty in equal measure and seemed destined for a life of service to the noble house. Their father insisted he work with the family until his seventeenth nameday, and since Lord Tywin agreed, Gregor grudgingly continued to fish alongside his father.

Sandor knew from an early age that he would gladly follow in the footsteps of his father and grandsire. The solitude and sea air seemed to be in his blood, calling to him each and every day. In fact, days spent on his family’s fishing boat on the salty sea were among Sandor’s first happy memories of childhood. The way he often sniffed the air led his family to teasingly nickname him ‘the hound.’ Sandor did not mind, and often barked in response, enjoying the peels of laughter it brought from his sister.

When he was six, he begged his brother to teach him to swim. Gregor could swim like a fish but he wouldn’t lower himself to the menial task; instead preferring to spar with the young squires. However, his sister Sarah was most happy to teach Sandor and the two spent many a pleasant day swimming in the water as their father and brother fished nearby.

Occasionally a seal pup with the most unusual reddish brown pelt would swim alongside them, splashing playfully before disappearing in the watery deep below. “The seal pup likes you, Sandy pup,” Sarah laughed, gathering Sandor into her arms. “It knows you are a pup too and wants to be friends.” Sandor giggled in her arms as she tread water. “Kick your feet now or you’ll go under.”

He obeyed as Sarah went on. “It’s most unusual for seals are most wary creatures by nature. It’s very good luck to have a seal take to you, little brother.”

“Why?” Sandor asked as he brushed Sarah’s wet hair away from deep gray eyes so like his own.

“It means you will always be safe at sea. The seals will guard you and guide you if you let them. Trust them, little brother, and your days at sea will go well with you when you become a fisherman like Papa. Who knows, that pup might be a selkie.”

Sandor had never heard that word. “Sis, what’s a selkie?”

“A wonderful, magical creature that is a seal at sea and a human on dry land. They are beautiful, loving and very special.”

“Bloody nonsense! Don’t fill his head with that stupid shit, you buggering witch.” Gregor growled from the starboard side of the boat. ”I chase those ugly fuckers off the deck every chance I get. Made a nice sealskin coat from one, aye.”

“You killed a seal?” Sandor’s eyes widened, and his legs, now treading water on their own, wavered at his brother’s cruel words. Quickly his head dipped below the waterline until Sarah lifted him into her arms once more.

 “Bugger you, Gregor,” Sarah hissed back. “You are wicked cruel and frightening  the wee laddie. For shame!”  Sandor gasped and choked as she heartily slapped him on the back.

Gregor laughed at his sputtering.  “I should hold you under the water and make a coat from your pelt, little brother.”

Sarah whispered soft words of comfort into his ear and smoothed his hair, all the while glaring at Gregor. “Or maybe Sandor will give me yours.” She fumed  angrily, protectively clutching him to her chest.

“Sarah! Gregor! Watch your tongues around the pup. A shame it is, the way you two speak. Your mother will smite you both for it one day from the Seven heavens, mark my words.”

“Forgive us, Papa,” Sarah finally called as she swam Sandor further away from the boat. Quickly she then turned and whispered into  his ear with a smile. “It’s best to be nice to seals and not chase them off as Gregor does, just in case they are selkies. You must never kill one either, or you will have bad luck. Do you believe me?”

Sandor wasn’t sure whether she was telling him the truth or if this was  another one of her fairy tales. He wanted to believe her, and Sarah often used such stories to comfort him when Gregor was in one of his cruel moods.

He thought it over as he kicked his legs back and forth.  _Sarah is older than Gregor by a year,_  Sandor reasoned as he looked into her eyes _, might be that she would know of such things_. Long after that day, Sandor wonder about Sarah’s tale of the seal that turned into a human, and the young man held her words  close to his heart the rest of his life.  

Not long after that day, Sarah went into the nearby alcove searching for abalone with Gregor; and Sandor never saw his beloved sister again.  Gregor told the grief-stricken family that she slipped on the rocks in the tide pools, hitting her head . He said the ocean carried her unconscious body out to sea, but Sandor never believed him. Sarah was the most surefooted of the three siblings and the best swimmer, too. Sandor was certain Gregor killed her, and from that day forward his hatred for his elder brother hardened his heart, the young boy seething quietly and planning his revenge as he spent his days by the sea.

 After the  _accident_ , as the family referred to Sarah’s death, his father and mother would no longer allow him to go out onto the boat. Sandor’s heart ached for his sister, his grief nearly consuming him body and soul as he silently raged against Gregor. To make matters worse,  Sandor was bitterly disappointed at being left out of the family fishing trips. Alone with his thoughts, Sandor would sit on the shore, mend the nets and watch the family boat in the distance, longing to join them as he wept for his beloved Sarah.

 Bleary eyed from crying and the intricate weaving work mending the nets, Sandor took a break and scanned  the waterline.  To his surprise he spied the seal pup, with its reddish coat gleaming in the sun, sitting on the nearby rocks and watching him curiously. When their eyes met, the animal woofed softly and flapped its fins in the water.

After that day, Sandor began calling to the animal but it never would get very close, always warily observing the boy from a safe distance.  Determined to get closer to the young seal, Sandor began bringing the smaller fish deemed too small for the family’s use to the shoreline and placed them on the rocks so he could watch it eat.

Some days it would not appear but most days the seal would be there waiting for him. When Sandor retired to his usual spot on the rocks, the animal would eagerly eat his offerings; afterward the seal would jump and dance in the water, delighting him with its antics. It seemed the animal’s little exhibitions were only for him, and though Sandor could no longer go out on the water, being able to watch the seal enjoying itself at sea made life a bit more bearable for the grief stricken young man. He felt a kinship with the animal and slowly Sandor began to recover from the loss of his sister.

On Sandor’s tenth nameday, his father finally agreed to take him out with Gregor. It was to be his first fishing outing, and Sandor was very excited.  As he carefully helped his brother set the nets, Sandor noticed the young seal pup sat not far away on the rocks, observing them closely. The mother seal  swam nearby;  before long she nudged the pup into the water and they were gone.

“’Tis lucky to see them out, son, for it means the fish will be biting, aye.”

When they indeed had filled their hull, Sandor silently thanked the gods of the Seven as the pink dusk settled over the horizon.  His mother taught him to pray to the so-called new gods, and he made sure he did just as she instructed. She was now gone, his dear sweet mother, following Sarah into the afterlife not long after the accident. His father told him she died of grief, but one look at Gregor’s smug face told Sandor all he needed to know. He was already growing big and strong, and one day he would have his revenge on his brother, knight or no.

After making the seven pointed star sign over his heart, Sandor raised his eyes to the water. The seal pup was back, only this time it was alone, sitting on a sharp outcropping of the bay. The animal daringly swam near the vessel and dipped its head over the bow of the boat cautiously. “Go now! Gregor will hurt you!” Sandor growled at the animal. It merely flapped a fin at him and woofed. Suddenly the animal’s eyes turned a deep blue color. Thinking he must be imagining things, Sandor blinked several times and shook his head. “Go now! Shoo!”

“Most unusual in a seal, those eyes.” His father’s voice resounded behind him. “Might be Sarah was right after all.”

 _No, that can’t be; he’s only humoring me._  “Father, is he blind?”

“No lad, and not a male, either. That pup is a girl.”

“How can you tell?” Sandor asked, genuinely curious.

His father laughed heartily. “A fisherman knows where to look, lad.”

As Sandor pondered his father’s words, Gregor said, “I like that red pelt. Might have to clobber it, skin it whole. Won’t make much of a coat, though, not big enough.”

“Stay away from her!” Sandor shoved Gregor using all of his body weight. His giant of a brother didn’t budge and merely swatted him away.

“Nice try, runt. You can’t just push around a squire of Casterly Rock without consequences.” Gregor’s voice was low and menacing, sending a shiver through Sandor’s body. The older brother laughed at him and unsheathed his knife.

“Leave your brother alone, Gregor. What would you know of it? You were meant to be a fisherman, not a knight.”

“And spend my days knee deep in fish guts? Bugger that. I’m a man now, and far too big for you to give orders, old man. This is the last time I go out.”

Sandor ignored them, instead focusing on the seal who was taking in the conversation as though she understood every word. He was mesmerized by her eyes.  “We should give her a fish.” The words tumbled out of his mouth.

Both men snapped their heads toward him in unison. “And why would we be giving away our hard earned catch to a beggarly seal pup, laddie?”

“The-the gods sent them to show us where the fish would be. Sarah told me,” Sandor twisted his handkerchief. “And Mother, too. Besides, it is my nameday. I wish to gift her with a fish.”

Gregor laughed. “You are a dumbshit through and through, little brother.  You’re supposed to get the gifts on your nameday, not the other way around. I’ll squash you proper once you’re big enough to waste my time on.”

Their father frowned. “Sandor is right. There hasn’t been a good catch around here in a dog’s age. Barely enough for the seals to survive and yet here she is, pretty as you please. Your mother always prayed it would be thus, and we did indeed succeed with our fishing this day. She blessed us from the afterlife, gods rest her soul. Go on, boy, give her a fish.”

Carefully Sandor selected the best, biggest fish of the bunch, hoping that his choice would please his mother and Sarah in the afterlife. Gingerly he then held out his hand and offered it to the seal pup. Warily she lifted herself on to the back of the boat, eying them closely. Quickly she took the fish from his hand and disappeared over the side.

“That’s gratitude for you, little brother,” Gregor laughed.

Just then the head of the fish came over the side of the boat, landing at Sandor’s feet. “Why look at that, will you? She gave you the best part, son.”

“She did?”

“Aye, seals always save the head for last, it being the tastiest to ‘em, but she gave it to you.”

Confused, Sandor glanced at his father. “What should I do?”

“Act like you’re taking a bite, let her see you do it. Then she’ll know you appreciate it.”

“For fuck’s sake, you are a fool, old man,” Gregor snarled.

Sandor ignored him and carefully perched on the side of the boat. After spotting the seal, he gingerly acted as though he was taking a bite of the fish head, and the seal barked eagerly before swimming in circles.

Gregor stood with his harpoon at the ready. “Come closer and I’ll have your hide, sea bitch.”

“No!” Sandor pushed the weapon out of his elder brother’s hand just as he was about to release the arrow. “Don’t hurt her or I’ll kill you myself!”

“You little shit,” Gregor bared his teeth at Sandor. “I’ll get you for this.”

“Growl all you want, you aren’t going to hurt her. She’s my friend.”

“Friend?” Gregor snorted. “She’ll be your only one when I’m through with you.” Grabbing Sandor by the collar, he shook Sandor hard until the boy’s teeth rattled and a small wooden knight fell out of his pocket.

“You little cowardly bastard! You would steal from  _me_?” Gregor roared angrily. “Now I’m gonna send you to Sarah and Mother.”

“No! Don’t hurt me, Gregor, please! You don’t play with it and I-“ Sandor’s words soon dissolved into screams as Gregor shoved his face into the small brazier their father had built on the deck.

“Gregor, no!” Their father cried, grasping in vain at Gregor’s shoulders as Sandor screamed, his efforts at restraint failing miserably against the enraged young man’s stranglehold. “For gods sake, he is your brother!”

The brazier tipped over in the struggle, lighting the small wooden boat on fire. The dry wooden planks were quickly engulfed in flames, exploding as it met the varnish coating the deck. The concussion threw Sandor into the watery deep.

Floating on his back, the young boy heard the muffled screams of his father and brother over the roar of the flames licking at the boat. Feebly Sandor tried to swim away, but the intense pain gripped his entire body and the boy found he had no strength to move. Despite his efforts, again and again Sandor’s head sunk beneath the surface of the water as the waves lapped at his face, the salty brine stinging his burns.

Sandor drew a breath to scream but only a hissing rasp escaped his throat. Suddenly the seal was beside him, plunging her body beneath his own and encircling him. Gently she moved him away from the burning vessel. Weakly Sandor struggled against her. “My father, my brother-please-“

Sandor could not think, could barely see from the searing pain radiating from his face but what happened next stunned Sandor into alertness. Before his very eyes, the seal’s kind face transformed into that of a beautiful young maiden. Her deep blue eyes kindly met his gaze and she smiled softly at him.  The rust colored pelt turned into a halo of fiery red hair that surrounded them as she took him into her arms. “San-dor, San-dor, you are hurt, my friend. Rest in my arms. You saved me.  I will help you.”

“What-what is your name?”

“My family calls me Sansa,” she whispered, kissing his cheek  tenderly. “I will take you to them.”  Weakly the young man succumbed to her attentions, closing his eyes and drifting off as she carried him beneath the waves.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's POV of her encounters with Sandor

Sansa remembers the first time she saw the boy well.  He was learning to swim and doing a poor job in her view. She and her mother had been sunbathing on the rocks in front of the great castle, basking in the warmth of the late summer afternoon.  The first thing Sansa noticed was that only his head was covered with a thick black pelt that hung to his shoulders; the rest of his body was bare. Instead of fins, he had two long limbs that wildly kicked against the water. Though he was a bit older than her, he was much larger than she, even in her seal form. A beautiful young woman held him in her arms. Was she his mother? Sansa couldn’t tell. Warily she swam closer for a better look.

“Mother, what is wrong with the human boy?” Sansa asked softly, her seal voice manifesting itself in quiet woofs that cut through the gentle sloshing of the waves.

“Nothing as far as I can tell,” Lady Catelyn answered after careful examination of the boy. “How do you mean, Sansa? Please, answer me in the Common tongue of men. You need to practice your words.”

Sansa could not tear her eyes from him and could hardly find her words at his beauty. Her two older brothers Robb and Jon and their father’s eel ward Theon Greyjoy had already taken their human forms and explored the dry land, as the people called it, and brought back fantastical tales of the beautiful human females walking upright. Intrigued, Sansa listened carefully to every detail in wonder, wishing for the day she too would be allowed to take her human form.

At night Jon would tell her tales of great armoured men on horseback who rescued beautiful maidens. She had always imagined the men to be just as lovely but now that she was faced with a human male, Sansa’s breath was taken away by him.

“He is very beautiful, isn’t he?” Sansa finally answered.

“Yes, he is.” Her mother gently nuzzled into her neck. “But?”

She wrinkled her nose and flapped the water. “But where are his fins and flippers? And why is he covered in that cloth-no wonder he cannot  learn to swim!”

“Humans wear what they call clothing as they do not have pelts. You will not have a pelt either, once you take your human form. You will have to wear those cloths around your body, too, as humans have very unusual notions about others seeing them in their natural state.”

 _Humans are beautiful but strange creatures indeed,_ she mused. “But he has a pelt on his head-where is the rest of it? He must be cold-look how he thrashes about.”

“Humans only have thick pelts on their head. Sometimes the males wear them on their faces too but only as they near manhood. They have a light fur covering on their chests and legs as well.”

Confused, Sansa lazily swam around her mother, lost in thought. “They are most unusual. “ She woofed softly. “Why are we not like them? Or like the rest of the fish of the sea? We Starks are both.”

“We have the blood of the first titans and we are a breed unto our own. One day you will take your human form, grow legs and venture onto land. But remember, you will always have your skin.  Once you put it on, you will then be able to return to the sea as a seal.”

Sansa thought it over. Perhaps taking her human form would have its advantages after all. She would very much like to see the boy on land instead of thrashing about in the water. “Could I perhaps one day find the boy where he lives on land?”

“Yes, if you wish. You are too little for that yet, though.”

“I wish I could go now.”

“Use your human tongue to speak.”

“Mother, don’t you think his mother should look out for him as you do for me, and not let him flail about?” Sansa said reprovingly. “It is unseemly.”

“Their way is not ours but that does not make it wrong.” Catelyn guided her into the surf crashing against the rocks. “Mind your tongue and do not judge those different from you. The selkie who wishes to be a true lady always seasons her words with grace.”

“Forgive me, Mother. I merely meant that it is not dignified to let him go on so. He is so delicate. I should help him.”

Her mother’s gently tone turned serious. “Listen to me very carefully: we must stay away from the humans in this form. They hunt seals, you know. The taller boy killed the wife of your Aunt Lyanna’s mate, and he took the lives of their pups as well. He smashed them against the rocks not far from here.”

Shivering, Sansa gasped audibly. “Oh mother! How terrible! Is that the place we offer fish once a year over by the alcove?”

“Yes.”

“The old gods of the kelp forest will punish him for his wickedness.”

“It is true, in time they will indeed. Some humans have been known to steal selkies skins when they are on dry land so they cannot return to sea, thus keeping them captive.”

Horrified, Sansa’s eyes filled with tears. _Would the beautiful boy grow up to be such a man?_

As if reading her thoughts, Catelyn added, “Nevertheless, we must not blame the younger boy for his brother’s cruelty; don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Sansa sighed with relief. “I feel so very badly for the young one.” Warm affection blossomed in Sansa’ heart for the boy as the day went on. Smiling softly, she happily spent the rest of the afternoon watching him laugh and play with his sister and longed to join them in spite of her mother’s warning.

Unable to resist any longer, Sansa ducked under the water and swam beside them, flapping her fins at them before darting away.  “The cruel one’s words are harsh to both the boy and the girl.” Sansa pouted when she returned. “The girl called the seal killer Greg-or. What does that mean in the Common tongue?”

“That is his human name, dearest. It means nothing, so far as I know. Humans do not always give their offspring names that have meaning.”

“Oh, that makes me sad,” Sansa shook her head, for she was rather pleased that her name meant ‘kissed by fire’ in reference to the color of her pelt. She longed to give the beautiful boy a name that meant something special but Sansa did not know the Common tongue well enough to come up with one just then.

“Nevertheless, he should not speak in such a way to his siblings,” her mother chastised. “It is not our way. Now promise me you will not try to swim with him again, no matter his beauty.”

Sansa was uncertain she could keep her promise, for the sound of the boy’s voice beckoned to her like a siren’s call. “Yes, Mother,” she finally answered, knowing her mother expected her obedience. “and I would never speak to Arya or Robb that way, let alone Bran or Rickon. Not even Jon.”

 “I know you wouldn’t dearest.  Did you hear the beautiful boy’s name when you drew close to them?”

“Yes,” she struggled to form the word. “San-dor.  Doesn’t it make a lovely sound on the tongue?” Sansa repeated it in a soft bark. “San-dor.  It is beautiful in both languages.”

Her mother smiled knowingly and nodded. “Come, it is time to go back home.” With that Catelyn dove into the water and nudged Sansa to follow her.

Home for the Stark family was a great coral reef structure known in the northern sea as Winterfell. Fresh air mysteriously filtered through the sea water and into its walls, allowing the family to shed their seal skins and take human form if they desired, or stay beneath the surface of the ocean for as long as they wished.

“Maybe the boy could visit us someday in Winterfell, for he could breathe the fresh air there.” Sansa flapped her fins together excitedly as they approached her father and brothers in the great hall.

“She speaks of a human boy we watched learn to swim today.” Catelyn explained, leading her elder sons away.

“He must never come here, do I make myself clear?” Ned emphasized sternly. “No human must know of this place. It is not our way. If you bring him here, it will endanger every selkie in the ocean, do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.” Sansa sheepishly whispered.

That night at high tide, Sansa dreamt of the beautiful boy with the black pelt surrounded by fire on the water. The heat of the blaze blew hot against her face as she swam to save him. The dream was so real that for days afterward she beleaguered the maester with requests to divine its meaning.

“You had a vision, lass,” was all the old seal would say as he gnawed on a lobster. “It is a common trait of your people. You have the blood of the first titans in you.”

“Yes, Mother told me the story, Maester Luwin. Tell me, will the boy die?” Sansa asked impatiently, though her voice was barely above a whisper.

“No, child. You will save him and one day, you will be separated and then find him again. Then he will save you.”

Puzzled, Sansa spent the rest of the evening swimming in circles to clear her mind until her sister Arya called her to break her fast with the family.

From that day forward Sansa could not resist looking for the boy at every opportunity. One day, as she swam near the great cove in search of abalone, Sansa witnessed Gregor strike his sister in the water with a violent force. Fear swept through her as she hid beneath the surface and watched helplessly as the girl’s lifeless body sank into the ocean. When Gregor left, Sansa dove into the waves until she found her but by then it was too late, for the beautiful boy’s sister had returned to the old gods of the kelp forest.

Not knowing what else to do, she carried the girl to Winterfell and asked the maester to help her. “I cannot bring one back from the old gods, pup, as much as I would like to,” he gently patted her with his flipper. “I am sorry.”

Her father scolded her terribly for bringing the dead human girl to them but she did not care. Grief overwhelmed Sansa. San-dor was suffering,  she knew, and for days Sansa would neither sleep nor eat, and frightened her mother by refusing to venture to the surface.

After a sennight, driven by the knowledge that his suffering must be far worse than her own, she decided she would look go for San-dor.  Sansa found him sitting beside the ocean, mending his nets alone.  She longed to go to him, to take her human form and hold him in her arms but in her grief and inexperience Sansa could not make the transformation complete.

She wanted to tell him in the Common tongue what she had seen Greg-or do, and had even practiced her words so he would understand, but San-dor would not venture into the water so she could approach him. Helplessly Sansa swam nearby, sobbing along with him as he cried on the shoreline.

One day he seemed to take notice of her, and so eagerly Sansa  swam circles and jumped  out of the water for his entertainment, hoping to alleviate his grief in any way she could. The next morning he brought her a fish, and after she ate, Sansa redoubled her efforts, jumping and swimming as fast as she could around the lagoon as he laughed. Never had anything sounded so lovely to Sansa.

Daily they continued this way until Sansa and San-dor both grew into adolescence. Sansa continued to pray to the old gods that he would return to her on the ocean. After much perseverance, the joyous day  finally arrived when San-dor at last returned to Sansa’s watery home.

Overjoyed, Sansa carefully kept herself hidden as she swam nearby, watching the beautiful boy with a full heart. _He is much larger now,_ she smiled to herself _, but his eyes are stormy, like the ocean after the rain._ Curiously she moved closer.

She heard the voice of San-dor’s father say that seals are good luck, and that the gods sent her there. _Humans are taught that we are lucky for them?_ The very notion delighted her. San-dor said it was his name day and that he wanted to gift her a fish. _He wants to give me a gift? How wonderful!_ Pure joy washed through the young seal, and unable to resist, Sansa leapt onto the deck next to the boy and proudly accepted his offering.

Before she ate, she carefully bit the head and tossed it toward San-dor. Just as she found her voice to thank him, Greg-or threated to kill her as he had done her Aunt Lyanna's mate's wife Elia and her children. Horrified, Sansa dove back into the water at the very moment San-dor came to her aid.

 _He saved me, just as one of the human knights in Jon’s stories!_ Sansa thrilled silently. Suddenly the situation turned far worse: there was a struggle between Greg-or, San-dor and his father, and somehow the boat caught fire.  A great explosion rocked the vessel. Terrified, Sansa shouted his name just as San-dor’s body splashed down in the water near her.

His father’s body fell not far away, and Gregor’s soon followed. Once assured that San-dor floated safely on his back, Sansa then swam over to the other men . It was clear the father was dead. Sadly, Sansa let go of him, allowing the tide to carry his body beneath the waves.  Sansa barked out a distress call to her family but no one came.

Next she warily approached Gregor, who was face down in the water. He made not a sound, and gingerly Sansa turned him over to see the entire front of his body was burned beyond recognition. With a measure of distaste, the young seal pushed him away from her and then returned to San-dor. _You will no longer hurt anyone, and the old gods have given justice to my family and San-dor._

He struggled against Sansa as she swam circles beneath him, moving him away from the burning wreckage. The thick smoke choked the Common tongue words in her throat. “Mother, save him if you can,” she barked softly. “Gentle the rage inside him so I can help him.” Concentrating hard, Sansa repeated her prayer as she swam in circles until suddenly she transformed into her human form. Delighted, she bobbed her head out of the water and took in her reflection.

Sansa saw that she had deep blue eyes and she had shed her pelt altogether, save for long red hair on her head. Beneath the water, she kicked her fins and discovered she was still very much a seal below, but such was to be expected until she reached dry land. Smiling at the frightened boy, she encircled her arms around San-dor.

He stared at her with tear filled eyes in disbelief. “My father, my brother-please-“

He saw my transformation, Sansa panicked briefly until she noticed his beautiful face was burned terribly on one side. Swallowing her fear, she forced the Common tongue from her throat. “San-dor, San-dor, you are hurt, my friend. Rest in my arms. You saved me.  I will help you.”

“What-what is your name?” San-dor asked.  The burns were already blistering, blackening his delicate flesh.

 _He wants to know my name._ She longed to tell him the meaning, but he was in far too much pain to understand so instead Sansa whispered, “My family calls me Sansa.” Not knowing how else to comfort him, she kissed his cheek, marveling at the smooth softness of his skin. _Maester Luwin could help him; surely Father will understand._  “I will take you to them.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa prayed to the old gods as she carefully carried Sandor beneath the water’s surface, begging them to spare his life. Sandor was much larger than she initially thought, and heavy too. Her arms grew tired as she struggled against the current. It was all she could do to keep his head above water as the initial panic from the blast drained from her body, leaving Sansa exhausted and overwrought.

Rolling onto her back, she cradled Sandor against her breast. He drew a deep gasp at the fresh air, coughing slightly as he did so.  _Your beautiful face, San-dor_ , Sansa began to weep softly _.  You must not die. I won’t let the old gods take you from me._  Though she was still young, she realized in that moment that she was in love with him.

Weeping quietly, she fervently entreated the old gods to spare his life. In the distance her father and brothers appeared amist the sea foam, frantically cutting through the waves to reach her. Following closely behind them were their pet dolphins Lady, Greywind and Ghost.

“Sansa! Sansa! Robb’s voice echoed over the tide. “Father, over here!”

Jon was suddenly at her side. “Sansa pup, it’s going to be alright.” Gently he lifted Sandor from her arms. “Give the human to me.” Lady nosed her gently from beneath the water.

Ned swam circles around his daughter, sniffing her and examining her thoroughly. “Thank the old gods! You seem to be unhurt, dearest. Are you in pain?”

“No, I am not hurt, Father,” she choked out. Lady flapped her flipper in distress, chattering softly. “But San-dor-he-“

Greywind swam alongside Ned as he gathered her in his arms. “What happened, child? Tell us truly.”

“The human is burned on his face and arm,” Jon answered, bringing the boy to Ned. “He is in pain. See how he writhes away from the water when it touches his wounds? What can be done for him?”

At that Sansa began to sob in earnest. “Help him, Father, please I beg of you.”

Ned stroked her hair. “Sansa, calm yourself lass and answer me. We heard what sounded like thunder, and then we saw the orange glow of fire on top of the water.”

“San-dor was fishing with his father and brother, Greg-or.”

Robb stared incredulously. “The seal killer is his brother?!”

“Yes. He got mad that San-dor gave me a fish-there was a fight and he held San-dor’s face in the hot coals on the deck. Why do they keep fire on the boat?”

“They use them to keep warm.” Robb explained. “The seal killer put his own brother’s face in there to burn?”

“Yes.”

“Why?

“San-dor was playing with his toy. The father tried to save San-dor and the fire was knocked over in the struggle.” Sansa’s breaths came in sharp gasps. “I cannot breath-“

“Easy lass, steady.” Ned stroked her cheek. “Take deep breaths and try to calm yourself.”

“What is wrong with her?” Jon asked quietly, slowly allowing his seal body to transform into that of man. “Here, give her to me, Father, please.  Mayhap Sansa will be more comfortable if she sees that she is not the only one in human form.” Taking her into his arms, he whispered in her ear. “Easy pup, I’m here.”

“She is very upset, and humans have trouble breathing when they cry.” Ned replied. “In this form she must be more mindful of her breathing-as you all should.”

“Greg-or and the father are both dead,” Sansa choked out. “San-dor already misses his sister-the seal killer killed her too. I saw it all!”

“I remember pup. There was nothing we could do for her. She is with the titans now.”

Robb nodded. “They must have been the human bodies we found on the way. Come on, Sansa pup, let us go back to Winterfell. There you can tell us the rest of the story in the morning.”

“What of the human boy?” Jon raised his voice in the Common tongue as he stroked Sansa’s long red hair soothingly. “We cannot abandon him. He will not survive.”

Ned agreed and pushed Sandor away from him, allowing the boy to float on his back. “We must. He cannot come to Winterfell. It is too dangerous for us-for our people.”

“But Father-“

“What is one dead human to us? They have killed so many of our people! Besides he’s already seen Sansa like this,” Robb muttered. “By all rights she should be banished, too. It is too dangerous.”

“No!” Jon shouted. “How dare you suggest we leave her alone for the humans!”

“Easy Jon; we will not abandon your sister. Robb, young humans have daydreams and imaginary friends. When he awakens he will think Sansa was merely a dream, part of the faerie tales his mother most likely told him. But we cannot risk taking the lad to our home.”

“Then at least bring Maester Luwin to the surface to help him, Father, please,” Jon insisted as Sansa began to cry harder still. “Look how distraught the pup is-remember how she grieved over his sister? I fear Sansa will never be the same if we leave the injured boy to his own devices.”

Ned sighed deeply. “Alright. Robb, you will bring the maester at once.” When he hesitated, Ned shouted, “Go now!”

When Maester Luwin surfaced with Robb, he was in human form. Sansa had never seen him thus and could not help but stare at the balding gray pelt on his head.

“What a beautiful pup you are in human form, Sansa,” the old maester smiled at her broadly, tweaking her chin. “Just look at that lovely mane kissed by fire. You mustn’t worry, child, I will help your friend here.”

“You speak the Common tongue so well, Maester Luwin.”

“Aye, and so will you if you keep up your lessons.” Carefully Measter Luwin examined Sandor, making several grunts of concern as he looked him over. “He is burned quite badly on the face. You were right to send for me.” He gravely glanced toward Ned. “The boy is in a great deal of pain. Robb, my potions, please.”

“What can you do for him?” Sansa whispered against Jon’s chest. “Will he die?”

“I am going to give him jellyfish venom for the pain and then I will wash out his burns with ocean water. Afterward we will wrap the wounds with sea weed. I do not believe he will die.”

“But if we leave him, he will not be able to keep using the medicines,” Jon commented quietly.

“We have already done far more than we should,” Ned sternly replied. “Still, there is no honor in leaving him to die.”

“I will go with Sansa and we can place him on the beach where he will be found by the fishermen.”

“Yes, Jon, do that.”

After the maester finished, Sansa gently swam away from her brother and took Sandor into her arms. “Isn’t he beautiful, Father?” She cried softly. “He cannot die. He mustn’t. Maester Luwin said he would live.”

Sharply Ned turned to him. “When did you tell her that?”

“Years ago the child had a vision of this accident. At first I thought it was merely a dream but at her insistence I prayed over her, and the old gods revealed to me that the boy would live and one day save her.”

“Is that why this human fascinates you so?” Ned calmly asked, though his gray eyes flashed angrily as he spoke.

“No, Father, I have loved the boy from the first time I saw him.” Sansa stroked his hair. “It is the fates that led me to him.”

The maester nodded solemnly.

“We will speak of this later,” Ned clenched his jaw as he spoke. “Sansa, take the boy to the shore. Jon, go with her and see that she obeys. I won’t have her fawning over him a moment longer than necessary.”

Jon carefully lifted the boy in his arms. “I will, Father. Sansa, lead the way.”

After the rest of the family dove back to the ocean depths, Sansa and Jon followed the coastline until they reached the beachfront of Casterly Rock. The great castle loomed overhead, its bright lanterns gleaming red and gold through massive stained glass windows.

“What is that fierce animal in the window?” Sansa woofed at her brother. There was something ominous about the structure.

“It is a lion. They are very dangerous animals that live on land. They often kill and eat man. If you see one in human form, you must run for your life.”

 _It is beautiful in a terrible way,_  Sansa thought as a deep shiver convulsed her body. “Why would the people there have such a creature decorate their home?”

“The family who lives there are surnamed Lannister; the beast is their sigil.”

 “The boat slips of the castle are over here,” she gestured toward the rocky outcropping lined with massive sailing vessels. “Let us take him there.”

“No, we should make it look as though he washed ashore, sister; otherwise it will raise suspicion in the humans.”

Sansa had not thought of that. “Alright then, we shall place him on the beach there.”

“Good,” Jon handed Sandor to her. “I am going to slip out of my seal skin entirely. You keep it for me, as humans have ways of stealing them, and then swim away from the shoreline.” Jon raised his eyes to the night sky. “The moon is hidden tonight, they will not see you. Keep yourself hidden and out of the light of their lanterns. I will go to the great castle and tell the humans that I was passing through and found an injured boy.”

“But Father said to leave him here,” Sansa gently stroked Sandor’s matted hair away from his burns, hardly daring to allow hope into her heart.  _Would Jon truly disobey their father and help Sandor live_?  As much as she wanted to save her friend, Sansa could not let Jon risk his life just to please her. “It is dangerous for you to go to the humans, Jon.”

“I cannot leave the boy without knowing he is cared for, sister. It is not honorable. The humans will come to his aid; it is their way to help the injured, especially their young ones. Once we see he is cared for, we will go back to the ocean.”

”What happens if they don’t believe you?”

“They will,” Jon pulled a small piece of cloth depicting three dogs on a yellow field of grass. “This is the sigil of San-dor’s family. Three hound dogs on a field the color of the sun. They are loyal animals who protect their masters.”

"Like our dolphins?"

"Aye. I took it off the seal killer’s shirt pocket to show you.”

“Dearest brother,” Sansa cried, kissing him on both cheeks.  “How clever you are!” She recalled Sandor's family often used that word referring to him but she had not known what it meant. So the boy had a name with meaning after all. “The Hound must be a nickname for him; I heard them refer to him as such.”

Jon smirked at her. “Enough with that now. Take the boy and watch over him until you see the lights of the lanterns descending on the beach.”

“Yes brother.” Carefully Sansa positioned Sandor on the sandy shoal and took her place beside him in the shallow water of the beachfront.  As Jon hauled himself up beside the boy, his fins made contact with the sand, transforming his lower half into human, with long legs that wobbled as he struggled to stand.

Staring in awe, Sansa beamed up at him. “What a beautiful human you make, brother!” Taking in his naked form, she whispered, “Mother said humans need clothes as they are ashamed of their natural bodies. Where will you find them?”

“See that hut over there?” He pointed toward the boat slips.

Sansa nodded.

“Humans don’t like being wet so they keep extra clothes there for when they are done fishing for the day.”

“Why don’t they like to be wet?” Sansa couldn’t resist asking him. “It is so very comfortable.”

Jon shook his head and shrugged. “They are most strange, sister. I will put on what I find in there.”

From what Sansa saw of Sandor and his sisters’ arrangements of cloths, there seemed to be an art to putting them on properly. “How will you know what to do with them?”

“I’ve seen plenty of humans and know the way they arrange them. Enough with the questions, little one,” Jon ruffled her hair. “Be careful now. I’ll return soon.”

As Jon disappeared from sight, Sansa cradled Sandor closer to her breast and gently rocked him in her arms. “Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our loved ones from death, I pray. Sooth his wounds and stay his suffering; let him know a better day.” Unable to resist, Sansa bent her head and kissed him softly on the mouth.

At the touch of her lips, Sandor’s eyes flickered open. “Sansa…Sansa,” he moaned pitifully.

“Shh, San-dor, you must not try to speak. Our maester treated your wounds. Are you in pain?

Sandor shook his head.

“Good. Help is coming, my friend.”


	4. Chapter 4

After what felt like an eternity to Sansa, she spotted Jon descending the steps of the great castle with a group of men following close behind. An older man in a magnificent red garment adorned with gold lions was flanked by two soldiers and another man, possibly the maester. _He must be the lord of the great castle-the Lannister of the lions._ Inquisitively she stared at the humans before remembering her promise that she would flee.

Upon seeing the lanterns, Sansa stroked Sandor’s hair for the last time and gently kissed his mouth once again. “San-dor, I must go now. My brother has brought your people to you. They will help you.”

“You-I saw you change-you were the seal pup that swam near us? You took the fish I offered?  Truly?” His gray eyes searched her face.

Though her heart ached, Sansa knew it would be difficult for the young human to understand her transformation, and as far as her father was concerned, it was for the best. It was dangerous for Sandor to have seen her thus, and one day, his memory of her would blend into the childhood faerie tales his mother and sister told him.

The very notion that the beautiful boy Sandor would forget her sent a deep mournful pain straight to Sansa’s heart. She could not bear to leave him without the slightest assurance that Sandor may remember her one day, the warm afternoons they frolicked in the water, the fish he gave her, and the many months she cried along with him as he mended nets along the shore.

“I must return to the sea.”

“Sansa, will I see you again?” Sandor’s face etched with worry, and so Sansa forced a smile through bitter tears.

 _His cutting tool!_ Sansa had watched him use it many times to cut netting. Slowly she drew his dagger from his belt, sliced off a long lock of her hair, braided it and then tied it to his wrist. “I do not know, San-dor. I hope so. I will look for you every day. This will help you remember me.”

“Don’t go-“ Sandor feebly reached out to her. “I’m afraid.”

Sobbing softly, Sansa rested her face on his chest, inhaling his warm scent. “I do not want to, friend, but I must. The humans will kill me if I stay. But you must not be afraid. Know that I will always care for you. I will always be your friend, and when you fish, I will never be far from you. If you call to me seven times, I will come to you. If you are afraid, look at your arm and think of me.”

With that Sansa then kissed Sandor for the last time on the forehead, cheek and lips before tearfully swimming out to sea.

* * *

In the haze of milk of the poppy, Sandor dreamed of a beautiful maiden with fiery red hair. Her upper body was that of a young girl but her lower half was a seal. The deepest blue eyes he had ever seen stared into his own as she held him in her arms, whispering words of comfort as she swam with him.

Had the girl really been the seal pup he had played with since he was little? He watched her transform before his very eyes but in the pain and shock of the accident, could he truly trust his eyes?

She said her name was Sansa and called him her friend. She prayed to her gods and sang for him. His tears had become hers as she desperately swam with him to safety, away from the burning boat.

Quietly she then spoke her name to him. _Sansa._ Her lips were the softest thing he had ever touched, and the sweetest, too. She smiled at him and tied a lock of hair to his wrist. When Sandor reached out for her, though, she disappeared beneath the water.

Sandor awakened with a start, the sudden jerking motion bringing intense pain to the burned side of his face.  Was it a dream? He could not tell. It certainly felt real, as real as Gregor holding his face in the brazier. At the thought of his brother, his stomach lurched sharply. Disturbed, Sandor tried to move his head, hoping to shake the memory from his mind. He struggled to speak but only a soft rasp escaped his lips.

Cool bandages were being placed on his face and neck. “Ser-“

“Your throat was burned lad; you must not try to speak any more.” An elderly man with a kind face leaned over him and nudged a spoonful of an amber substance to his lips. “Take this, boy, the honey will heal your throat. The lord of the castle will be here shortly.”

 _I am inside Casterly Rock?_ Sandor wriggled until he turned the unburned side of his face toward the rest of the room and with great effort he slowly took in his surroundings.  Had they taken Sansa’s gift? With trepidation he fingered his wrist and found the lock of hair still there. The maester’s eyes fell to his hands and the man smiled. “A gift from a sweetheart?”

“Might be, could be.” Sandor replied, tugging his sleeve over it.

The maester laughed. “You’re a bit young for such things.”

Sandor did not answer; instead he glanced around the large bedroom filled with gilded mahogany furniture. Great mirrors covered in sheets of heavy linen stood next to the bed. He had never seen so fine a place in all his life.

“Why are they covered? I want to see my face.”

“Plenty of time for that later, lad.”

The clicking of the door handle caught Sandor by surprise. “My lord,” the maester bowed. A magnificently dressed man, strong and powerfully built despite his years, came into Sandor’s line of sight. “M’lord, my lord,” he forced a whisper from his throat. “My lady.”

The corner of the man’s mouth curled into a smile that did not reach his eyes. “You must be Sandor Clegane.”  

A frowning girl about Sandor’s age with golden blonde hair stood beside the lord, watching him warily. Her brother sat down on the foot of his bed and smiled wryly at him. “You like your room?”

Sandor finally nodded, then hissed from the pain. The boy frowned. “Father, he must not move.”

The maester quickly held a drought vial to his mouth and urged Sandor to drink; the bitter substance burned his throat but he meekly submitted.

“A lion does not concern himself with the sheep, my son. That is a maester’s duty.” The man’s eyes narrowed coldly. “I am Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock. You are in my home, young man.”

Sandor tried to tip his head respectfully. “M’lord, thank you for caring for me.”

“You parents minded your manners; good.” Lord Tywin looked him over approvingly. “This is my son Jaime and my daughter Cersei.” The girl hastily turned away. After a moment of silence, he added, “I daresay you’ll never be one to grab the attention of the maidens, but you are large and muscular for your age, boy.”

“Yes ser, so I’ve been told.” Sandor replied through clenched teeth. _What did he mean by that?_ He puzzled over in his mind, still addled by pain and medication.

Lord Tywin stiffened slightly. “I am sorry to say you are the last surviving member of your house. My men found your father and brother at the water’s edge. Both are buried in the lichyard by your home. You can visit as soon as you are able.”

Blackness settled over the young boy then. When Sansa sadly took him into her arms, a part of him understood that his family did not survive, but hearing the lord’s confirmation seared his heart with blistering grief far more painful than his wounds.  

Hot tears leaked from the corner of his eyes, though Sandor willed himself not to break down in front of the lord and his children. “Thank you,” he finally rasped. “I will do so gladly.”

“You will no longer make your living as a fisherman, such as it was. When you are able you will be trained as a squire.”

Sandor did not want to be a squire. That was Gregor’s dream, not his. He wanted to be a fisherman like his father and one day see Sansa again. “Forgive me, m’lord-“

“Tell me, are you grateful for the care you are receiving?”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“And do you think I deserve repayment for said care?”

“Yes, m’lord, certainly.”

“Then it is settled. When you are healed you will serve House Lannister as a squire as repayment. When you come of age I will then decide whether or not you will continue in my service as a fisherman or a sworn shield.”

“Not a knight?”

“Careful lad. You are the second son from a minor house,” Lord Tywin tisked. “Do not presume too much.”

Sandor slunk back into the pillows. Lord Tywin gestured toward his children. The boy Jaime patted his foot as he rose to leave, and the girl laughed haughtily as she followed her father out of the room.

* * *

Slowly Sandor healed from his burns, the process taking far longer than the maester expected due to the extent of his injury.  His appetite was good, however, and the boy grew steadily larger as the summer progressed.  Memories of Sansa continued to stay with him, the young maid guarding him in his dreams as she had done at sea.

Many times the maester and Lord Tywin questioned him about the accident, demanding more information as to how he managed to survive. Sandor steadily refused to tell them anything beyond what happened aboard ship, careful never to reveal anything about her; the young man remembering the way Sansa cried that she would be killed if found.

Sandor knew that the men suspected he was hiding something, but he didn’t care. He never asked to be there. Though he was grateful to Lord Tywin,  he missed his sister, mother and father, and longed to see them again. Sandor wanted his home by the sea, to smell the fresh salt air and feel the waves lap over his body, not to be a squire.

Why had the gods spared him? He repeatedly asked the maester to no avail. The septon visited him once, said a prayer over him, and made the sign of the seven pointed star.

The man was elaborately dressed, and sat awkwardly on the foot of his bed as he told Sandor that  death was part of the gods plans and unknowable to humans.  The holy man’s explanation did nothing to assuage the bereaved boy’s grief, the empty words burning bitterly in his mind instead.

When Sandor regained his strength a full twelve moons later, Lord Tywin immediately assigned him to Ser Amory Lorch. From then on, Sandor spent his days training, fighting, learning to maintain all forms of weapons and armor, and generally taking care of any task with which the knight did not wish to trouble himself.

He enjoyed learning to protect himself and the physical exertion, but Sandor soon learned to hate the knights and squires of Casterly Rock. “Your little accident cost me dearly, boy!” The knight huffed each morning when Sandor arrived. “You’ll never be the knight your brother would have been. He was damned near seven feet tall, muscled like a bull with a talent for killing. A poor substitute you are, Hound.”

“Yes, Ser,” was all Sandor would say, carefully holding the drunken knight’s words hard in his heart. Most days the knight also derided his scarred appearance. The squires joined in, giving Sandor little respite from the torment during his daily activities. He mostly remained silent throughout Ser Amory’s daily abuses, burying the rage and shame deep within his heart.  

As time went on, Sandor learned to harness his wrath, storing up the harsh words and abusive treatment and allowing it to drive him during training. The young man brutally pummeled his opponents to the point that they soon learned to fear him and keep their comments far away from his earshot. Only Jaime Lannister refrained from taunting him, and so Sandor often spared him from the worst of his furious blows.

Each night, Sandor would climb the rooftop of the squire’s quarters, gaze at the stars and dream of Sansa. His remembrance of her was the only soft, beautiful spot in his life, and Sandor treasured it. It was Sansa’s memory that  soothed and consoled him through the difficult recovery from his burns, the pain and misery wearing the memory of that horrific day on his face, the mocking comments and quiet whispers of the people, the eyes turning away in horror whenever he walked past. It was Sansa and Sansa alone that fueled his desire to prove everyone wrong and succeed, to one day throw the offer of knighthood in Ser Amory’s face and return to his place on the water.

His dreams of her changed as he grew into adulthood, the once small waifish girl transforming into a ravishing beauty with crimson hair, skin the color of cream, and deep blue eyes that stared at him affectionately. Though it shamed him, the memory of her made his blood boil and his cock harden. He had heard the term selkie passed around the men referring to mythical creatures such as she-was it possible Sansa one day would choose to shed her skin and come to him?

Did she still look for him at sea? Did Sansa return to the rocks where he fed her fish and swam with her and Sarah? A multitude of questions plagued his mind at the memory of her; tough the entire experience had been wholly unbelievable, Sandor slowly convinced himself that the gods sent her to save him. Acrid disappointment that he had not been able to return to the beach since that day gnawed at him, his time and energies belonging to Ser Amory and Lord Tywin, and Sandor hoped one day she would understand.

Sandor still wore her favor, as he thought of it, though his wrist had long outgrown the small circlet she made for his ten year old arm. Fashioning a lariat from leftover leather, Sandor wore the bracelet inside his tunic, next to his heart. He would return to her one day, he promised himself, and tell her that he longed to see her, and how much she meant to him. As time passed, he became convinced that they would indeed be reunited, and the hope gave him strength to endure the taunts and trials of life at Casterly Rock.

Because of his extraordinary size and athletic ability, Lord Tywin soon saw fit to bring Sandor along on sorties, and the young man distinguished himself in battle. On his twentieth nameday, Jaime Lannister came to him and announced that he wanted Sandor to serve as his nephew’s sworn shield.  

Sandor had to stifle his laugh at the word “nephew”, for on more than one occasion he caught Cersei and her brother engaging in very unnatural activities. “He will be arriving from King’s Landing day after tomorrow. I would only entrust his care to you, Clegane.”

“Bugger that. I do not wish to serve as a sworn shield to your nephew or anyone,” Sandor muttered as he brushed his warhorse Stranger, having won the fine animal in a poker game the night before. “I want to return to fishing, Lannister. You know that. So does your sire.”

“I do, Sandor, I do indeed. However, if you serve him well, I swear you will be repaid handsomely. A Lannister always pays his debts, you know, and you could then purchase a boat or whatever you wish. What do you say?”

Sandor remained silent as he thought it over. Cleganes paid their debts as well, and one day he would make Ser Amory suffer for his cruely. It would be a fairly easy way to earn coin-how hard could it be, looking after some prissy highborn boy? Sighing heavily, Sandor nodded as an idea took firm hold of his mind. “Aye, I’ll look after the lad. I’ll swear my pledge when he arrives.”


	5. Chapter 5

Every day Sansa would swim out to the beachfront of Casterly Rock, hoping for a glimpse of Sandor.  She spent hours scanning the rocky coastline, often venturing close to the Lannister fishing boats in the hope that he might be aboard. Many times she saw the soldiers practicing along the shore but never did she spot her beautiful friend.

When Sandor did not appear, Sansa would then tearfully make her way to the shoreline where he mended nets and then lastly, to the fishing spot favored by his father. Each night, exhausted and defeated, she would fall asleep on the rocks and dream of him. Her family became increasingly alarmed by her behavior. When the sun would set, they began sending Jon to bring her home. The separation from Sandor was physically painful for Sansa, and as the days turned into years, she would often refuse to eat, eventually crying herself to sleep.

Arya always swam nearby, trying in vain to comfort her sister. Her younger brother Bran was studying to become a selkie shaman and often would come and pray over her.

Afterward his words to her were always the same. “He is your destiny sister, you must believe.”

“But why, brother? What does this all mean?” Sansa would ask, and again Bran’s answer never wavered.

“I do not know.”

Maester Luwin did his best to soothe Sansa with his tonics but nothing seemed to relieve her misery. “I have no remedies for heartache, my lady.”  He told her mother sadly. “Only the young man can help her, I am afraid.”

“Sansa, you must not continue on this way.” Catelyn took Sansa into her arms. “You are making yourself unwell. Tell me: why are you going on this way over the human? This is far more than you wanting to see his beautiful face once more. Unburden yourself, child.”

“I fear I’ll never see him again.” Sansa sobbed against her mother’s breast. “That family with the lions-I see them out practicing their war games on the shore and at sea. They frighten me. What if they have sent him to fight?”

Catelyn shrugged. “Such is the way of humans, dearest.”

Sansa could not understand what was happening to her; all she knew was that she could not bear being separated from him any longer. Sandor occupied her thoughts during her waking hours; at night dreams of him robbed her of restful sleep. A deep primal need to find him consumed her; no medication from the maester would alleviate her suffering, of that she was certain.

Maester Luwin handed her a drought to settle her nerves. She pushed it away, shaking her head. “Sansa, take it, like the good child you are.” Meekly she submitted. “You have always been the most devoted of the Stark children in serving the old gods. Have you lost your faith and begun doubting your dreams, lass?”

Chastened, Sansa averted her eyes. “No; well, perhaps a bit. I cannot help it. I have not seen San-dor out at sea for years-where could he be?”

“I do not know, daughter.” Catelyn patted her shoulders. “The gods only showed that one day he would save you. He lives and you will see him again. You must believe.”

“I will go ashore to find him,” Sansa sniffed into her mother’s neck. “I cannot bear not knowing where he is any longer.” Once she gave voice to her deepest desire, Sansa felt as though a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

“Your father will forbid it, child.”

“Mother, please, you could help him understand-“

“You will not recognize him, lass.” Maester Luwin gently reminded her. “He is a grown man now. And you are a woman-he would not recognize you either. Most likely he has forgotten you.”

“I will never forget San-dor’s beautiful face, his stormy eyes, and his smile! How could you suggest me capable of such a thing? And I know he remembers me-I can feel it in my heart.” With that Sansa began sobbing uncontrollably.

“He meant no disrespect, Sansa,” her mother stroked her hair. “But you must know he speaks the truth. Humans drastically change when they grow into adulthood. And you are no longer the sea pup he remembers. You have matured into a strikingly beautiful selkie.” 

“Let the human go, child,” Catelyn upturned Sansa’s face and stared into her eyes. “There are plenty of our own selkie males who would give anything for you to be as devoted to them as you are this human.”

She knew the selkie to whom her mother was referring. Jory Cassel, one of her father’s closest men and captain of his guard, dearly wanted her as his life mate. Her father had been encouraging her to accept his troth and Sansa knew she could not put him off forever, despite her feelings for Sandor. He often brought her gifts both as a seal and a human, and begged her to come ashore with him. He was beautiful, it was true, and brave and strong, but Sansa did not love him.

Sniffling, Sansa shook her head. “Forgive me, mother, I know I should be honored by Jory’s declarations. I know I must do my duty to you and father.  Before I decide anything, I must find San-dor first.”

Hesitantly Sansa admitted, “He comes to me in my dreams, Mother. I see San-dor as he is now, with a beautiful long black pelt that falls below his shoulders. He has a face pelt now as well that is trimmed. He is muscular and tall, taller than any human I have ever seen excepting the seal-killer. He longs to see me. I feel him in my heart-I must go to him.”

Maester Luwin glanced at Catelyn and then at Sansa. “It sounds as though she may have bonded with the human, my lady.”

“How can that be?” Catelyn asked, clearly alarmed. Bonding was a blessed connection gifted by the old gods of the kelp forests. Those who were bonded were joined together as one flesh, one spirit. It was known that even death did not break the sacred union. Very few selkies were granted such unions, but a selkie and a human joined in this manner was absolutely unheard of.

Finally Catelyn found her voice. “What brings you to this conclusion, Maester?”

“The pup was so distressed by the accident that it brought on her flowering. This is also the reason she transformed into her human form. Bonding typically takes place at sexual maturity.”

“But the change was not complete; she did not shed her seal skin altogether,” Catelyn protectively clutched Sansa to her chest, the mother unwilling to allow the fates shape her daughter’s future in this way.

“It is quite simple, really: Sansa was so young that she could not complete the change and so retained her fins under the water. Of course she has always been fond of the boy but since he was there with her when the change took place, I do believe the gods bonded her with him.”

Fear gripped Catelyn’s heart, and though she tried to hide her worry from Sansa, her daughter saw it at once. “Mother is it so very bad?”

“I do not know. I cannot say I am pleased. Why would the old gods burden her with such an attachment to a human? It is cruel.”

“No, my lady, it is not cruel; far from it. It is most joyous, for it is part of their plan for Sansa and the human. It is her destiny and his. We must allow her to explore this connection.”

“Her father will be most displeased and I, quite frankly am quite alarmed. How can we allow her to go ashore?”

Sansa’s eyes darted between her mother and the maester: could it be true? Was she truly bonded with Sandor? The more she thought on it, the more sense it made. She had an undeniable connection with him, and at hearing the maester’s explanation, a sense of clarity settled over her. Suddenly all of her experiences made sense.

“Do just as you did with Robb and Jon: prepare her as best you can and then set her free.”

“I will speak to Lord Eddard about allowing her to go ashore.”

Sansa cast a pleading look at her mother. “Oh Mother, truly?”

“Yes but do not get your hopes up, daughter. It is too dangerous. I cannot consent to it alone, and after what happened to your aunt-”

“She is a selkie flowered. Though she is an obedient child, my lady, Sansa does not require your consent or that of Lord Eddard. It is her right as a child of the gods. If you deny her the chance to explore this bond, there is no telling what will happen to her. You remember how it turned out for Lyanna.”

Catelyn sighed heavily.  “I know, Maester Luwin, that you are right. But you can plainly see what a beautiful creature she is-we cannot trust the humans."

“If they are truly bonded, nothing will stand in the way of their connection. You must allow it. Bran has second sight is growing into a very powerful selkie shaman bonded to the old gods in the red kelp. He can watch over her, perhaps say a blessing that will blind the humans to her beauty, excepting Sandor of course.”

Jory cautiously approached them while staring at Sansa, his eyes full of pain. “I have walked among them many times and I can say with certainty that the human men will steal her skin once they lay eyes on her. Then she will be forced to stay on land. They have no honor.”

“Please, Ser Jory, this is not your concern.” Sansa jutted her chin at him. “San-dor has plenty of honor. I know he does!”

Jory raised his voice. “You know no such thing. You are an innocent female. You should be mated already, for your childish ways will lead to your injury.”

“I have seen many terrible things,” Sansa sobbed out indignantly. “I am neither innocent nor a child.” She was angry with herself for crying like a pup and furious with Jory for questioning Sandor’s honor. _He only means to possess me._ “I saw the seal killer take San-dor’s sister’s life. He saved me from the seal killer. Sandor burned for me!”

 _They have to let me go to him. I cannot bear being separated from him any longer. It is the will of the gods for true._ Turning to her mother, she decided to offer a compromise. “I must go to the land and look for him. If I cannot find San-dor, I will consider another selkie as a mate; I swear it on the old gods of the kelp forest.”

After much discussion, Lord Eddard agreed that the bond could neither be ignored nor denied, and within a sennight, Sansa was escorted by her father and Arya to the beachfront of Casterly Rock.

Great fishing vessels were trawling the ocean floor nearby. “You must stay away from those ships, daughter. If they catch you, they will know what you are; humans are raised on legends about our people. Unfortunately most humans will mistreat you if they discover your true form.”

Sansa drew in a shaky breath. “Yes, Father.”

Ned patted her softly. “Remember that the humans are very ashamed of the natural form. You must find clothing at once and keep yourself covered at all times. Watch the other female humans, and do as they do. You will learn quickly enough what is expected of you. Rely on your instincts. Your sense of hearing, eyesight and smell is far sharper than that of ordinary humans. If you sense danger, you must flee; promise me.”

“I promise, Father.”

“Under no circumstances are you to leave your skin. If you lose it, you will never be able to return to the sea as a seal.”

Apprehension fluttered in her stomach; nevertheless, Sansa was determined to go ashore. “I understand.”

“I love you, daughter.” Ned pulled her into a tight embrace. “Come back to us.”

Sobbing quietly, Sansa nodded.

Arya put her arms around Sansa and her father. “I’ll take care of Lady for you.”

“Thank you, sweet sister,” Sansa kissed her Arya and her father by turns. "I love you both," she called out before swimming into the bay.

* * *

After Joffrey Baratheon arrived at Casterly Rock, Sandor was moved to the first position in the ranks of both the Lannister and Baratheon guards. The boy happened to be a prince, the son of King Robert on the Iron throne, and as his sworn shield, Sandor was now second only to the members of the Kingsguard. He was immediately offered a position there as well as a matter of honor, but Sandor’s animosity toward knights by then was as much a part of his reputation as his ferocity in battle, and no one pressed him when he refused.

As the sworn shield of the crown prince, Sandor was gifted with a distinguishing white woolen cloak, which he wore with derision. There was nothing pure or sacred about his service. Sandor was well aware he was a glorified hired killer meant to protect the boy from harm during his stay; nothing more.

And what a chore that deceptively simple task turned out to be, for King’s Robert’s heir bore little resemblance to his father in either appearance or disposition, instead favoring the haughty ways of his mother Cersei.

Sandor had grown to hate her from boyhood on, and as a grown man he steadfastly held on to this feeling. She teased him relentless for his lowborn ways, his scarred complexion, and anything else that struck her fancy.  Her son immediately picked up the scornful tone of his mother when addressing him and took every opportunity to mock his appearance as well. It was all Sandor could do to keep from drowning the little shit.

The only positive side to his service was that Sandor was paid a large sum of coin for his troubles. In fact, the amount was so exorbitant that he decided the Lannisters realized what an obnoxious brat Joffrey was and compensated him accordingly.

In addition, Sandor was granted a small villa of his own in the area of the officer’s private homes. It was quiet and open and offered a lovely view of the ocean. Better still, he was granted the seventh day of the week off, and on those days he chartered a fishing boat.

Sandor had only been out to sea once but that did not prevent him from picking up the trade right where he left off. He felt at home on the deck of the small vessel for the first time since he came to Casterly Rock. It was a pleasure to once again work with his hands, to smell the salt air and feel the sun on his face, to enjoy the fruits of his labor. Most of all, he relished the peace and solitude time his weekly diversion afforded.

Much to his dismay, however, the young man discovered that when on the sea, Sansa’s memory flooded his mind and irresistibly beckoned him ever closer to the fishing spots he visited with his father. Try though he might, Sandor could not shake the feeling that she was near. Her presence was everywhere, and this day he felt helpless to resist the urge to look for her. Carefully navigating the vessel,  Sandor chose to trawl the bay below Casterly Rock, the area he last saw Sansa. After shedding his cloak and rolling up his sleeves, Sandor set to work with his nets while searching the surrounding waters.


	6. Chapter 6

Though he cursed himself repeatedly for his foolishness, Sandor could not free himself of the notion that Sansa was somehow nearby. _How could that be?_ He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Sandor was not one to let his emotions hold sway over common sense; and yet no matter how hard the man tried to dismiss it, the sensation grew stronger and more intense with each passing minute.

The image of her beautiful face haunted him, calling him to return to the waters he once fished with his father. Sandor no longer thought of her as he last saw her, which disturbed him all the more. It was not that it was so very unusual for him to think of Sansa, for memories of her had occupied most of his waking hours since he was a boy. But as of late, the visions of her changed dramatically: she was no longer the selkie child he remembered, but a strikingly beautiful woman.

In his mind he saw her fiery red hair gleaming in the sun, draped over full round creamy breasts and falling down to the swell of her deeply curved hips. She smiled softly at him but showed no signs of being ashamed of her nakedness. He felt a strong desire to protect her and keep her safe. Sandor dreamed that he would carry her ashore in his cloak as she kissed his face and sang the song he remembered from when she held him in the water. Her skin was the softest thing he had ever touched, and she never turned away from his attentions.

No matter how often he took himself in hand, his desire for her only increased. In his fantasies Sandor got everything he wanted with Sansa: he touched her, tasted her, made her sigh and moan. He held her close against his chest in his bed, in _their_ bed, afterward, and dreamed of a future together. They laughed and played, lived and loved together. The dreams followed him into sleep most nights of the week. Sandor always awakened hot and hard, with a hunger only a woman could satisfy.

It had been several moons since he joined the men at Petyr Baelish’s brothel, the young man only agreeing to go so the men would no longer tease him. Hoping to curb his desire for Sansa, he had picked out the one consort in the establishment with red hair and blue eyes. Unable to bear his shame, Sandor nevertheless took her from behind and tried to imagine it was Sansa, but the experience, while alleviating his urges, had been mostly unsatisfying.  _Bloody fool. Your blood is up, nothing more._ Silently he prayed that the old gods would unburden him from his madness as he worked. Lifting the nets for the last time, Sandor hauled his catch onto the deck with a heavy heart. The sound of Sansa’s sweet voice called to him. _San-dor, San-dor, is that you?_

 _Gods help me_. _I must have stayed out in the bloody sun too long._ Blinking several times, the young man drew a deep breath to steady his nerves. A great wriggling in the trawling line caught Sandor’s eye, and so just before lowering it into the hull, he carefully scanned the contents of the net.  _Is it a shark? A dolphin?_ _A seal?_ Sharks were virtually unheard of in the waters surrounding Casterly Rock. Besides, it would have been far too heavy for him to lift by hand if one of those creatures was inside the net.  As he brought it down to eye level, Sandor jumped back with a start.

Writhing amidst the catch was Sansa, the young woman caught in the great net along with the rest of the fish. Her beautiful blue eyes met his own as she gasped in surprise. His heart clenched at seeing her, tightening his chest and restricting his breathing. Gaping, Sandor continued staring unabashedly at Sansa, the young woman mirroring his own expression as he did so. Abruptly he closed his mouth and swallowed hard.

Indeed, it was Sansa-he recognized her from his dreams _._ Disbelief washed over him, and  tentatively Sandor gripped his hands around the weave of the netting. On seeing this, Sansa raised her hands and carefully entwined her fingers around his own. Blinking, Sandor looked her over carefully. What had happened to her? She was no longer a seal, or even partly seal; she was all woman-a very beautiful, very nude woman.

Her eyes flooded with tears as she finally spoke. “San-dor-is it you?”

“Yes, I’m Sandor. You remember me?” He finally asked incredulously, his voice shaking as he did so.

“Of course I do. When I saw the boat, I had to come see if you were on it. I have looked for you every day since the accident.”

Her tender admission choked his words, so Sandor squeezed her hands softly in response.

 “I have missed you so, my friend.” Sansa’s voice cracked at the last word, and instinctively he wrapped his arm around her as best he could.

Finally Sandor managed to find his voice. “How did you-where did you-“

“The gods brought us together.” Tenderly she gave him the same soft smile he so often pictured in his dreams.

Sandor gave her a wry grin. “Sansa, the seal pup, all grown up has found me.”

“Yes,” she sobbed out. “Thank the gods you remember me! I feared you would not. My father said you would forget.”

“Aye I remember you,” he lifted the lariat out of his tunic, the burned side of his mouth twitching into a smile. He held up the love lock she had given him so long ago. “You saved my life; how could I forget you?”

Sansa’s eyes lit up at seeing the favor and she leaned in closer to him. “I prayed you would.” The two silently gazed at each other until the weight of the fish shifted.  Gasping, Sansa struggled against the meshwork, trying to grapple for purchase amidst the slippery cargo.

“Come; let’s get you out of there.” Sandor growled low. Carefully he pulled on the rope and secured the pulleys until the net hung just above the deck. Supporting her on his hip, Sandor then drug his fighting knife through the netting and cut Sansa free from her confines.

After she gained her bearings, she wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him once more. _She looks just as she did in my dreams_ , Sandor thought as he took in her beautiful form. _A woman grown._

“I have seen you in my dreams as well.” Sansa whispered into his neck, her tears wetting the front of his tunic.

 _Did I say that aloud?_ Utterly captivated, Sandor reluctantly settled her onto the deck, marveling at Sansa’s long legs as she struggled to stand. _She dreamed of me too._ Confusion took hold  as he stared at her. The man knew he should at the very least turn away to preserve her modesty; that was what a gentleman would do, as his father would say. But Sandor was no gentlemen, and since Sansa did not seem to mind, he took full advantage of the situation to drink in every inch of her.

It seemed his visions of her had been far more than mere fantasy. As his eyes traveled from her vibrant hair to her creamy skin, Sandor realized his dreams of Sansa were an exact representation of her as she was now, a woman grown and all very much human. He had long given up openly professing belief in any god but Sansa’s sudden appearance set him to rethinking his stance. _Mother had the gift of second sight-is it possible she passed it on to me? Did the gods send Sansa to me? Or did they send me to her? If so, why?_

The lurching of the boat shook him out of his reverie. “Let me help you, lass.” He awkwardly offered. Meekly she lifted her arms up to him while Sandor helped her out of the mess.  Upon making contact with her skin, a deep abiding contentment came over him, as though somehow having her in his arms completed him, that Sansa was _meant_ to be in his arms. Reluctantly Sandor moved away from her as she steadied herself and stepped forward.

“It feels wonderful to walk as a human,” she marveled, the young woman not the least bit inhibited by her state of undress. After a few moments he realized he was still staring at her, so swiftly Sandor settled his cloak over her shoulders and stepped further away, hoping she would not notice his aroused state.

“Oh, San-dor, you must forgive me,” Sansa sheepishly gathered the material close to her. “I know humans are most ashamed of their natural bodies. I did not have a chance to cover myself. I do not wish to cause you offense.”

Smirking, he shook his head. “I’m anything but offended, believe that.”

Tipping her head, Sansa gazed up at him quizzically. “You do not mind if I stay in my natural state? I thought perhaps you found me distasteful to look upon.” Self-consciously she smoothed her hands over her breasts and down her hips, the innocent gesture frustrating and arousing Sandor further still.

Barking out a laugh, Sandor’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “I prefer you thus, although the people on shore will not like it.” He shrugged off his tunic and handed it to her. “Put your arms through the side holes and your head through the large one.”

Obediently Sansa pulled it on. The neckline of the tunic opened in a deep vee but the length was suitable enough. “Keep covered, will you?”

“Yes, of course.” Sansa blushed deeply as her eyes wandered from his face to his torso. Tentatively she then reached up to touch his jawline, smiling affectionately as she gently stroked her fingers over his scarred side. “San-dor, you have grown into a most beautiful man. You have a face pelt.” Smiling, she ran the palms of her hands over his chest and abdomen. “You have another pelt here as well.” Her touch sent a deep shiver of lust through his body. Instinctively Sandor flinched away from her.

Sansa’s curious expression immediately gave way to one of concern. “Forgive me, did I hurt you?”

 _Bloody hells, I react to her like a green boy._ Biting back his annoyance, Sandor sniffed and turned away. “No. Leave it be. You can touch me but don’t go touching anyone else so freely. Humans don’t like it, and men could get the wrong idea.”

“What idea?” She asked, genuinely curious.

His lip curled into a sardonic grin. “That you want to _mate_ with them.”

"Oh. How very odd you humans are." Gasping, Sansa hurriedly shed the cloak and tunic and returned to the catch, wading into the fish as she ran her hands over them. “Oh, no, that reminds me!”

“What are you doing?”

“I seem to have lost my skin,” Sansa gasped out, panic stricken. “I made the transformation when I realized I was trapped. I do not know what has become of it!”

“What skin?”

“My seal skin! I must find it, San-dor, please! If I do not, I will not be able to return to my family at sea.”

 _You could stay here, with me. Or we could leave this place._ Sandor silently mulled over as he regarded her. What was he thinking? Had his lust for her addled his mind? They had just been reunited, for fuck’s sake! Sansa had not said she wanted to stay with him, and it was common knowledge that selkies would return to sea as often as they could. Even if she wanted to, Sansa could not stay with him indefinitely; though he had a measure of privacy in the villa, her presence would no doubt raise suspicion.  

It was not like him to give himself over to such rash emotion; in fact, Sandor prided himself on keeping his feelings in check at all times. What was happening to him? Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he knelt beside her and helped her search through the fish. “You are no longer a selkie without it?”

“I will always be a selkie,” Sansa replied petulantly. “I have taken my human form to find you and thus cast off my seal skin.” Desperately she pawed through the squirming fish. “I must find it.”

“Easy, easy,” Sandor lifted her out of the mess once more. “Don’t fret. We’ll find it. It must still be in the water. I’ll cast the net down and see.” Motioning her toward the cabin, he gruffly rasped, “There is water and soap in there if you want to clean up while I look.” Abruptly he then lowered the secondary net into the water.

Sansa stood still, a confused expression clouding her lovely face. “Alright San-dor, as you wish,” she looked over her human form carefully.

Sandor’s eyes inadvertently followed her line of sight. Exasperated, he huffed out, “Now what is it?”

“I-I do not know how to properly bathe in this body. Will you show me?”

 _She’s going to be the death of me_. Gritting his teeth, Sandor hastily grabbed a washcloth and bar of soap, lathered it heavily and then ran it over his upper arms and chest. When finished, he then carefully rinsed his skin, allowing the water to run off his body.

Sansa watched in wonderment. “That was very good, Sandor. I enjoy watching you bathe.”

The thought of Sansa naked in his bath greatly appealed to him. “You like that, do you?” He could not resist teasing. “You can watch me bathe any time you like. Or you can join me.”

That the implication of his words was lost on the young woman became apparent soon enough. “Oh, yes,” she nodded eagerly. “I would very much like to join you. Perhaps we could bathe each other. I-“

Her innocence soured the next jest in his mouth but did nothing to curb his desire. “Just do this over your entire body, especially under your arms…” Sandor interrupted her, the man hardly able to control himself at her words. Awkwardly he gestured toward the pretty thatch of red curls between her legs. "and there, too.”

Nodding eagerly, Sansa took the soap and rag from him and began vigorously lathering her body. A low groan came unbidden from the back of Sandor's throat as he gaped at her; never had _any_ woman, and certainly not one as beautiful as Sansa, been so free with her body around him. His response to her was primal, instantaneous, and though it shamed him like nothing else, Sandor could not tear his eyes from her.

“What is wrong? Am I not doing it right?” Sansa paused, biting her lower lip.  A thick rivulet of suds trailed over her breasts, sloping down her stomach and gathered at her woman’s place as she waited for his approval. Sandor felt the laces on his breeches painfully tighten to the point that he needed to loosed them and so quickly he turned away.

“Aye, a bit too well. I’ll give you your privacy now,” he rasped, his throat parched with need. “Humans tend to bathe alone-unless they are wed.”

“Yes, of course. I do not wish to offend you-it is only that-”

Sandor held up his hand, stopping her short. “No more apologizing. Just put the tunic back on when you’re finished.” Cursing under his breath, he then made his way to the deck to retrieve the lowered net. Among the fish was the familiar seal pelt of deep reddish brown Sandor remembered as a boy. “I found your skin, Sansa.” He called out to her as he removed it. After rinsing it off in the fresh water, Sandor brought it to her.

She sat looking out the window of the cabin contentedly. “Oh thank the old gods. And thank you, San-dor. I have been told humans keep our skins and hide them so we cannot return to our homes at sea. It is most cruel. My brothers were afraid you would be such a man.”

He wanted her, gods be damned, more than anything in his gods forsaken life, but never would Sandor deny her free will. If Sansa were to stay with him, it would be by her own choice. “You needn’t worry, lass. I’ll not take your skin. You can return to the sea whenever you wish.”

“San-dor, I do not wish to return just yet,” she fidgeted with the hem. “I want to stay with you. Will you please take me ashore?”

“Aye, if you want.”

“Will you show me your dwelling? And teach me how to be a proper female human?”

 _Bloody hells._ Sandor knew in that moment he was powerless to deny her anything. Sighing, he wiped his hand over his face. “Yes, of course.”

“Good,” Sansa smiled, seemingly satisfied. Promptly she then stripped off the tunic, laid down the bow of the boat and fell asleep in the sun.

When they drew near to port, Sandor gently awakened her. “Come Sansa, you must dress, Remember, you must stay covered around everyone but me.”

“Yes, San-dor, I’ll remember,” she hastily pulled on his tunic and cloak.

“I am a soldier, do you know what that means?

“Yes, you fight wars for other men.”

“Aye,” Sandor nodded, her purely honest and yet apt description cutting him to the bone. “If anyone asks, we’ll tell them we are childhood friends and that your boat capsized. I found you adrift at sea and brought you back with me. Got it?”

“Yes. We are childhood friends and my boat capsized. You rescued me.”

“Good.” Sandor dropped anchor. Anxiously he scanned the crowd bustling around the port before gently lifting her onto the dock. "I'm going to carry you to my home."

Smiling at him, Sansa whispered in his good ear, “Yes, Sandor. I think I will very much like being on land.”


	7. Chapter 7

When Sandor shifted her weight in his arms, a tremendous ache brought tears to Sansa’s eyes; she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Immediately Sandor stopped, knelt and balanced her weight on his upper thigh. Sansa saw his face fall as he regarded her closely. “What is it, Sansa? You're pale.”

He felt incredibly muscular and powerful beneath her but in her misery she could not focus on him just then. When Sansa tried to speak, a sharp pain pierced her lungs and this time, she could not stifle her whimpering.

“My side hurts, oh, San-dor, it hurts dreadfully,” she started to cast off the cloak but Sandor stilled her hand.

“Too many people here, lass,” he whispered in her ear, “You must stay covered. You probably cracked a rib when you struggled in the net.”

“I did not feel anything then,” Sansa winced as Sandor rose to his feet. “Why is it hurting now?”

“I don’t know. When humans are very afraid, sometimes they cannot feel injury. Once they relax, though, they feel every bump and bruise. I’ll call the maester for you when we return home.”

 _Home._  She liked the sound of the word. Since childhood, Winterfell had been the only place of dwelling Sansa had ever known, but now Sandor’s words indicated he meant his home would be her home,  _their_  home. The notion sent warm fluttering to her stomach and she nuzzled into his chest in response.

The boisterous commotion on the dock quickly overloaded Sansa’s senses. Merchants shouted to passersby, men chopped fish on great blocks of wood, passenger ships blew great horns to announce arrivals; it was all more than she could bear, especially when combined with the throbbing pain in her side.

 _You must learn to manage it, child._  Her father’s words whispered in her ear. He had lived for several years as a human, even fighting alongside King Robert in the great war. Sansa did not know if the human king ever knew her father was a selkie, and so excited was she to get ashore that she forgot to ask him. Now Sansa deeply regretted it and determined she would have to inquire further when she saw him again.

Burying her face in Sandor’s neck, the young woman fought the surge of panic flowing through her at the sight of the swarming humans. The people surrounding them did not seem the least bit affected by the loud noise of the bustling crowd. A group of soldiers, no,  _knights_ judging by their armor, circled around Sandor as he carried her down the gangway. Some instinct told her to put on her best face and so she lifted her eyes at the men.

“What have we here?” An ugly toad of a man stuck his nose in Sansa’s face. His eyes were cruel and full of lust; shrinking away, she began trembling and buried her face in Sandor’s neck.

“Get your fucking nose out of my business Boros, if you mean to keep it,” Sandor spat in the man’s face. Sansa had never heard him speak so harshly. Clearly he was reacting to her distress; in fact, Sandor clutched her so closely to his chest she could barely breathe. “Don’t think I won’t, Toad. No whore in Lannisport will have you then, not even the ugly ones you keep company with.”

“Bloody hells, Clegane!” Boros stepped forward, his hand on the pommel of his sword. “I was only jesting.”

Sandor’s fighting knife was already at the man’s throat. He dug the point in just enough to draw blood. “You stay away from us or I’ll kill you.”

“Is that a threat? And right in front of the lord commander no less?”

A tall, distinguished young man with hair the color of the sun stepped in front of them He wore a suit of armor of brilliant white and gold that gleamed in the bright sun. “Is he a knight?” Sansa whispered to Sandor.

“Aye,” he grunted irritably. “Kingsguard.”

She did not know what the word meant but she concluded that he must be a very special kind of knight. The golden man’s eyes were a startling shade of green that fascinated Sansa. Upon closer observation, he made her uncomfortable somehow though he had yet to say a word.  _Trust your instincts,_  she reminded herself, deciding she would remain silent and try not to stare at him as he drew near.

“Enough Blount,” Jaime Lannister rested his hand on Sandor’s forearm. “Leave the lady alone before I let Clegane cut you in half.”

“Have you really cut a man in half?” Sansa whispered in his ear.

“I’m a soldier, Sansa; I do what I’m told and not everything I’ve done is pretty.” Sandor muttered under his breath with a short nod.

“What happened, Clegane? Where did this girl come from?”

Sansa spoke up before Sandor. “My boat capsized and he found me adrift at sea. The gods answered my prayers and brought him to me.”

He raised his eyebrow when she spoke and grinned at Sandor in a way she did not like. “You were sailing  _alone_? A young woman?”

She was Lord Eddard’s daughter, the blood of Winterfell, not some commoner. Who did this human think he was, questioning her word?  Sansa did not care for his tone, both doubtful and mocking.

Sandor frowned darkly as he gave another nod. Bristling, Sansa jutted her chin out at him. “Yes, is that so very unusual?”  His entire body tensed sharply beneath her and so she held her tongue further.

Throwing back his head, Jaime laughed long and hard. “Yes it is, actually. You aren’t from around here, are you, my lady?”

Sansa remembered that Jon said knights were addressed differently than common folk. She did not wish to cause Sandor trouble in her first few moments on land. Her mother’s admonition to mind her manners echoed in her ears and so she answered respectfully, “No, Ser.”

“I thought not.” The golden man continued to eye her closely. “You have the look of the north.”

“Aye, north. She’s a friend from childhood,” Sandor rasped low.

“Ser, you are most intuitive.”

Ignoring her, Sandor went on, “Lucky I found her when I did. What are you men doing out here, Lannister?”

Sansa’s ears perked up at the name.  _So the knight was of the family of the great dwelling with lions in the windows_. Another shiver involuntarily swept through her body.

“Robert sent us to make the final preparations for his departure Thursday next.”

“The king is leaving so suddenly? Why?”

“There’s trouble in King’s Landing. Joffrey will stay here. The king insists on going on the hunt before he leaves, though.”

Sandor nodded thoughtfully. “He meant to take me and the boy with him.”

 _Who was Joffrey?_   Sansa wondered, feeling his muscles tense up once more.

“Not anymore. Robert thinks Joffrey will be safer in Lannisport with his grandfather. He’d keep in Casterly Rock the rest of his life, I’d wager, but it won’t do to have the crown prince out of the capital.”

“Is Lannisport the name of this place?” She glanced around, eager to change the subject that seemed to make her friend so uncomfortable.

 “Yes this is Lannisport. It is the capital of the Westerlands, my lady.”

She glanced around. “It is very lovely and quite noisy.”

“Have you never heard of it?”

“Of course. It is only that I did not mind my lessons as closely as I should have. Please forgive my ignorance.”

Jaime laughed sharply and nodded. “Lessons or no, your observation is indeed shrewd; it is both noisy and crowded too. This is the home of my family seat, Casterly Rock.” Sandor shifted his hold on her, and Sansa felt him tense further still.

“I meant no disrespect, Ser. I have often admired your great castle.”  _And I have often feared it, too,_  Sansa added to herself. "You must be one of the lions of House Lannister."

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” his mouth curled in a sardonic smirk that matched his tone. “I am Jaime Lannister, eldest son on Lord Tywin.”

“How do you do, Ser Jaime, son of Tywin,” Sansa tipped her head with a slight smile. “I am Sansa of House Stark.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” the golden knight bowed low. “Forgive me, but I am not familiar with that house.”

“Ours is not as grand as yours, Ser Jaime and hardly worth the attention of so great a family as Lannister.”

“Where is the seat of House Stark located?”

“North, as you said.” Sandor interjected through gritted teeth.

Jaime grinned at him. “You are welcome to stay with Clegane here. Meryn, return to the Rock and make the arrangements for the lady.”

“Thank you. I would like that very much.”

“Take her your villa, Clegane. Arys will bring the maester to tend her.”

“At once, Lord Commander.”

“Sansa needs clothing and shoes,” Sandor glanced down at the cloak wrapped around her body. “She lost everything in the accident. If you have them sent over, I’ll pay for it.”

“How very unexpectedly  _gallant_ of you,” he smirked, then nodded. “Nude and injured seems to be the preferred way you and your friends arrive here.”

Everything out of his mouth sounded like an insult, and Sansa decided she did not like the golden lion knight one bit. Still, she was Lady Catelyn’s daughter, raised to remember her courtesies under all circumstances. “You are most generous; thank you Ser Jaime.”

“Tis nothing,” he shrugged as he gestured to another knight. “Go to the maester at once. Send him to Clegane’s villa.”

* * *

The septa and maester were already waiting in the solar when he carried her into the villa. Brushing past them, Sandor quickly settled her down on his bed, his eyes falling to the deep purplish bruising on her side as he did so. Sansa whimpered out another small cry as he moved the pillows behind her head. “Forgive me, lass.”

“Do you feel that your private bedchamber is an appropriate place for the maiden?” The septa glared at him accusingly.

“None of the others ever complained, you best believe.” He sneered at her, the man bearly concealing his rage.

She rolled her eyes. “Regardless, this is hardly acceptable. You must go at once.”

Septa Eglantine had taken an instant dislike to him since she arrived with Joffrey and his sister, even going so far as scolding him for not going to the sept but Sandor did not care. He had no use for religious fanatics, and when the septons and septas of the Seven failed to adequately answer his questions as to why the gods allowed bad things to happen to good people, they earned a special place of derision in his heart.

Despite the maester and septa’s protests of impropriety, Sandor refused to leave Sansa.  He was weary and heartsick with worry for her and he could not risk them discovering her true nature. When they persisted, what little self-control he had left fled him, so Sandor decided to give them a reason to take offense. “Bugger that. If either of you think you can make me leave, just go on a try me.”

It was plain by their reactions that he visibly frightened them both. Sansa, however, gave him a soft smile as soon as they turned away from her, the young woman seemingly understanding the source of his anxiety.

“The gods have mercy on your soul, Sandor Clegane,” Septa Eglantine stiffened.

“A little late for that, wouldn’t you say?” Sandor growled, pointing to his ravaged face with a twisted grin. “Where were your gods when I needed them?”

“Sacrilage,” she made the sign of the Seven over him, causing Sandor to laugh derisively in her face. “The least you can do is turn your back, as honor dictates.”

“I’m no bloody knight. What use have I for honor?” Exasperated, he turned and stared out at the Sunset Sea. “Enough! She is in pain, damn you. I won’t listen to another moment of your bleating while she suffers.”

Hurriedly the healers set to work. The clattering of their instruments set his teeth on edge but Sandor forced himself to stay facing the water. After a while, the maester called, “You can turn around now, my lord.”

Smirking, Sandor leaned against the bedpost, his large frame dwarfing the pair. Buried beneath the covers lay Sansa, so very small and delicate, sleeping peacefully. Her side was neatly bandaged and she now wore a cream lace sleeping gown. Despite her injury, she looked like a fucking goddess, and Sandor’s body soon threatened to betray him once more.

Turning away, Sandor  turned his attention toward the maester. “Well? What say you?”

“Tis a few bruised ribs, nothing more,” the healer announced as he dried off his hands. “I gave her a drop of milk of the poppy. The vial is on the nightstand should she require more. No more than two drops at a time, understand? And no more than that in an hour hence.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“I can stay with her, if you like,” the septa curtly offered. “The lady’s care may require more than you are able to provide.”

“No,” he handed them both a few coins. “Go now. I’ll call you if she is in distress.”

“You’re very generous, my lord,” the maester grinned. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

“I will speak to Ser Jaime about this.” Septa Eglantine sputtered as she quickly followed on the maester’s heels.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Sandor sank down beside Sansa on the bed. A deep growling from his stomach brought his eye to the tray filled with cold meats, fruit, cheese, wine and bread next to the nightstand. On the butler hung four gowns, seven sets of smallclothes, three day gowns, two sleeping sifts and various other articles of women’s clothing that Sandor did not recognize.

When he was certain Sansa would not awaken, he filled the basin with hot water. Kicking off his boots, Sandor then quickly bathed and climbed into the bed beside her.


	8. Chapter 8

Sandor awakened with Sansa sleeping peacefully in his arms. Exhausted, the man has intended to keep a respectful distance when he lay down beside her; but somehow Sandor managed to curl his body around Sansa during the night.  She looked like a little bird nesting in his arms, her small body dwarfed by him as he curled possessively around her. One hand rested around Sansa's small waist while the other arm ached from being tucked under her head. While Sansa’s back was securely spooned into his chest, her legs were resting on his thighs.

Silently Sandor wondered how long they had been in that position as he regarded her, taking full advantage of her slumbering state to openly admire her. Sansa had indeed grown into an achingly beautiful woman-by far the most beautiful he had ever had seen. Though Cersei was widely said to be the most handsome woman in the Seven kingdoms, Sandor was convinced she did not compare to the little bird tucked in his arms.

Stirring, she snuggled closer to him; her back pressing firmly against his chest as she cradled his hand to her breast like a child would hold a cherished doll. The intimacy of the act suddenly made Sandor very uncomfortable, even though Sansa did not seem to mind lying in bed with him. Sandor was no greenboy; he had fucked women, aye, but never had one slept in his arms. Women usually refused to look at him, even the well trained courtesans in Baelish’s pleasure house, and their revulsion angered him like nothing else, filling him with shame. In response, Sandor took them like the dog he was, enjoying watching them squirm to avert their eyes as he held them in an iron grip as he fucked them. Admittedly though, it did little to stifle his self-loathing, which doggedly clung to him until Sandor sufficiently drowned it, along with his memories of Sansa, in Dornish sour.

And yet this relatively innocent position heated his blood and shamed him even further. It was intimate, full of trust and affection, and altogether different from his heated couplings in the past. In fact, up until then, the most intimacy Sandor had ever experienced was with the last courtesan he visited. Sandor had chosen her specifically because of her red hair and creamy skin, so like Sansa’s in his dreams. Initially he started the visit by taking her from behind, but being unable to find his completion, he had turned her over and lifted her into his arms.

Mary was her name, and in her embrace Sandor, for a few fleeting moments, had been able to imagine that she was Sansa. Against his better judgment, Sandor lost himself in her, in the delusion that it was Sansa’s soft whimpers that were tickling his ear, that it was her lovely breasts rubbing against his skin. Completely enthralled, Sandor abruptly stopped his rutting and took her deeply, almost tenderly as he further immersed himself in the delusion.  In his desperation for intimacy, Sandor kissed her, longing for the taste of Sansa’s sweet mouth he renembered in his dreams. Mary, the courtesan who tasted of wine and lip rouge, eagerly kissed him back in a lascivous manner the likes of which Sansa had never imagined, but in the haze of his pleasure, it had been all the same to him. His completion had been the most intense Sandor had ever known, but once he finished, the spell was broken.

Looking into Mary’s eyes, he could see she too had been carried away, perhaps imagining a young man that she loved. His actions startled the young courtesan into reality as Sandor abruptly pushed her away. Reality washed over the two of them then and each reverted into the same lonely, lost soul they each had been when they entered the room. Disturbed by the experience, Sandor awkwardly dressed and groped for the door, all the while cursing his weakness and promising himself he would never return to Mary again.

Pushing the memory aside, Sandor traced Sansa’s cheekbone with the back of his hand. Sansa was innocent and beautiful, and far better than a lowly dog like him deserved. What could this beautiful creature know of such debauchery and misery? She was pure and exquisite and the only good thing he had ever known in his miserable life, and miraculously she had returned to him. Shaking his head, Sandor determined he would not waste another moment on his shame filled musings as long as he held her.

Looking back on the events of the previous day, Sandor felt as though it had all been a dream. When Sansa looked into his eyes and said he was beautiful as she ran her fingers through his beard, there was no trace of revulsion or deception in her eyes; in fact, it seemed to Sandor that she hardly noticed his scars at all. Instead of being repulsed, she was actually very curious about his body, so much so that he had to dissuade her. How could such a thing be? Women had been avoiding looking at him ever since the accident, and yet the most beautiful creature he had ever seen had stared at him as though he was her fucking knight in shining armor.

Stirring slightly, Sansa opened her eyes, her face lighting up as she recognized him. “I thought I dreamed you,” Sansa murmured, her soft voice breaking the stillness of the room. “I often did such in the years we were apart and always awakened in tears.”

Gazing into her blue eyes, Sandor could scarcely speak, could hardly breathe at hearing her admission. The need to protect her inexplicably rushed over him once more and so he pulled her closer into his embrace. “How do you feel?” Sandor rasped when he finally found his voice.

“Sore and stiff,” she winced and adjusted herself as though she were accustomed to sleeping with him. “but very warm and snug as well. It is most pleasant to sleep with you.”

Sandor regarded her closely while continuing to stroke her face. It was daring, he knew, to initiate such an intimate gesture with a woman he barely knew but something drew Sandor to touch her, the man needing reassurance that she was real and lying beside him.

“I am better, Sandor, truly; you need not look so worried,” Sansa cupped his cheek. “Your face pelt is thicker this morning.”

“It isn’t a face pelt, it is a beard,” Sandor pulled her closer and she winced once more. “Do you need more milk of the poppy?”

Sansa shook her head. “No, I think not, perhaps just a bit more rest. I do not like that medicine.” To Sandor’s delight, she snuggled down further against him and closed her eyes.

“Why?”

A sharp shiver went through her body. “It gave me terrible dreams-frightening dreams.” Instinctively Sansa pressed against him for comfort.

There was something in her words and manner that greatly unsettled Sandor. A corresponding chill went up his spine, and Sandor tipped her face up to his. “Tell me.”

Shivering once more, Sansa clutched at his bare skin. “The sea was on fire. The air was filled with green smoke, choking everyone…everything…” Sansa began to cry softly. “All of my family and friends were dead. You…you were in a terrible battle on the land. I kept calling to you but you could not hear me.”

 _Does Sansa also have visions, truly? Probably it is just the milk of the poppy, nothing more._ Chiding his own foolishness, Sandor then gently tucked her into his arms and rasped into her ear. “It was just a dream. You’re safe with me.”

“Hold me closer Sandor.” Sansa snuggled into him.

“Aye, I will, lass.” Sandor stroked her hair until she relaxed in his arms once more, all the while wondering if Sansa was destined to end his days of emptiness and loneliness once and for all.

“This is an unusual way to sleep but very comfortable nonetheless.” Sansa muttered against his chest.

That was a bloody understatement if he ever heard one-who ever heard of sleeping with a woman you weren't fucking? Keeping his thoughts to himself, he raised his eyebrow at her.  “And how do you normally sleep?”

Uncertainty flooded her eyes. “We sleep together in a bundle of sorts. Do not humans sleep in the same manner?”

“No; sometimes we sleep like this as children but adults only share a bed with their spouses or…” As Sandor puzzled out a reply, a deep blush flushed her cheeks.

“Oh, I see,” she nibbled her lip, the innocent gesture driving Sandor mad with desire. “but we are not children anymore, are we?” Her words hung thickly in the air.

“Indeed we are not,” Sandor smirked, her words stirring the man.

“No, you are most certainly not the young boy I remember who feared his brother. You are a powerful man grown, a fierce soldier whom all fear.”

Anger coursed through Sandor; while he appreciated honesty, the blunt truth of her words stung sharply. Sandor did not want her to think of him as a soldier but as a fisherman. “And you are not the pup I once knew, either, Sansa. No longer a seal, but you are now a beautiful woman grown, innocent and yet alluring.” Sighing deeply, he added, “You need not fear me trying to push you for anything more, though.”

Slowly she nodded, her brows knitting into a small frown. If he didn't know better, Sandor would have believed Sansa seemed a bit disappointed by his answer. He started to pull away but Sansa insistently held onto him, pressing her hand against his cheek. “You need not get up. You won’t hurt me, Sandor; I know that. I trust you completely. You are the only human I trust. My mother explained to me that men have needs so tell me truly: is it very difficult for me to sleep with you in this manner?”

Sandor was certain she could feel his hardened manhood pressed into her thigh, but Sansa did not move; instead, she blushingly gazed into his eyes as though she feared he would send her away.  Brazenly Sandor nuzzled her neck, kissing her there. “No, I like you right where you are.” She gasped softly but did not pull away.

“Good; then you would not mind it if we stayed this way for a bit longer?”

“Aye, we will.”

Biting her lip, Sansa trailed her fingers over his beard. “I love your face pelt-I mean, beard.  It is very beautiful but a bit stiff.”

“My beard isn’t the only thing stiff about me, believe that.”

Scandalized, Sansa giggled, her face blushing a pretty shade of red as she did so. “Indeed. Will you teach me how to be a proper human lady?”

Sighing, he shrugged. “I’m not the one to teach you such things, Sansa, but I’ll bring someone to help you.”

Sansa’s face fell. “What do you think I should learn first?”

“First,” Sandor leaned over to the nightstand, “I’ll teach you to read.”

“You know how to read?” Sansa clapped her hands excitedly. “How wonderful! My father learned to read; King Robert taught him when they were at war. My elder brothers can read as well; they learned ashore. I always wanted to learn but well, reading material doesn’t survive the ocean water.”

Sandor puzzled over her words. “Your father came ashore and took a human form to fight alongside King Robert?”

“Yes, they were good friends. I do not know if the king knew my father’s true nature, though.” Sansa nibbled on her lower lip as she tried to gauge his response.

For several moments, Sandor sat in stunned silence. “Well, everyone should learn how to read. Today we start, right after we break our fast.”

Sansa nodded eagerly. “Can we fill the tub? I miss being in the water already.”

“Aye,” Sandor sighed, her admission making him wonder if his dream of starting a relationship with Sansa was just another foolish fantasy meant to be dispelled in the harsh light of reality. _Sansa will come to hate living with me on land; how could she not?  She will learn to hate me as well. You think the gods will see fit to let you keep her? As what? A wife? You think she wants to whelp your pups and spend the rest of her life with you? Buggering bastard, you almost had yourself fooled, didn't you?_

Gruffly Sandor jerked away from her and climbed out of bed. Crestfallen, Sansa stared at him in confusion. “What is the matter?”

“Never you mind. Go back to sleep. I’ll get the water.”


	9. Chapter 9

After his abrupt departure, Sansa lay in bed, mulling over what could possibly have upset Sandor. She knew that by human standards she had taken liberties with him but he didn’t seem to mind. Sansa was certain he would have told her if her behavior bothered him.

Sandor was no longer the open little boy she remembered but a fierce man who buried his feelings close to his heart. And who could blame him? Her beautiful Sandor had suffered much loss at a very young age.

After losing his family and being burned, the change was inevitable, but Sansa’s heart ached for him just the same. Her mother had warned her that Sandor would not be an adult version of the boy she befriended long ago, but now that she had witnessed just how drastically he was affected it was most difficult for her to reconcile the two as the same person.

It seemed that when Sansa looked into his eyes, though, she saw a glimmer of the boy he once had been. For a moment, Sandor let his guard down, and something like hope transformed his countenance. At the mention of her returning to sea, however, things had taken a sharp turn for the worse and he reverted back into the guarded, hostile man Sandor had been with the soldiers.

Sandor admitted that he heard selkies will always leave their human mates and go back to the water at the first opportunity. He didn’t give her a chance to explain that the reason for such behavior was they were held captive against their will when the men kept their skins, and once they had the means to escape, they took it. It was a far different matter when a selkie desired a human as a life mate and chose not return to sea of her own free will.

 _He must want me for a mate and he cannot stand the thought of me leaving him._ The realization both thrilled and pained Sansa. The possibility of never seeing her family again saddened the young woman deeply, and although her father and Maester Luwin had explained the bond she shared with Sandor could never be broken, Sansa was fearful of any arrangement that would alienate her from the rest of the Stark clan. It seemed unnecessarily cruel, to deny her access to her family, and Sandor was anything but cruel to her. Perhaps he would not be so exacting in his requirements. Sansa longed to explain to him the wonderful, mystical bond that drew them together, for the more time she spent with Sandor, the more she longed to take him as her mate.

Would Sandor mock the idea of the old gods joining them together for a purpose? Sansa was not sure; he did not seem to keep any gods and after what he had experienced, she could hardly blame him. After much deliberation Sansa admitted to herself that it was too early yet to tell Sandor about the bond, let alone to take him as a mate; they had barely gotten reacquainted and there was much that needed to be said. It was the bond that was driving her emotions, nothing more, and she would not allow it to force an intimacy that he did not share.

Still, the idea that Sandor feared her abandoning him disturbed Sansa _. He is very much mistaken about our people. I would be so very true to him, if only he would give me the chance._ With a sad sigh, Sansa cleared her mind and began her daily ritual of praying to the old gods, after which she gingerly rose to her feet.

Getting out of bed proved more difficult for Sansa than she anticipated. Her side still throbbed painfully, but she found if she held onto it as she moved, it felt better. With Sandor gone, Sansa took the opportunity to explore Sandor’s home.

Everything about the dwelling was very masculine and seemed mostly for utilitarian purposes. On a stand near the bed Sansa was distracted by the wide array of clothing Sandor had brought up for her. Delightedly she carefully looked over every article, fingering the soft material and admiring the many different colors and styles. It was all so very beautiful, and she was most eager to see how she looked wearing them, but Sansa had no idea how to put any of it on.

She wasn’t sure she would like wearing clothes after all, no matter how pretty they might be. In fact, Sansa intensely disliked the only article of clothing she had ever worn, the cursed lace sleeping gown, for it was itchy and tangled in her legs as she slept. Worst of all, it prevented her skin from touching Sandor’s as he held her, and that would never do.

When Sandor did not return, Sansa decided she would go out onto the balcony and take in the fresh air. The morning was warm and the sun filled chaise beckoned to her. Eagerly she stretched out to bathe as she waited.

* * *

 Angrily Sandor yanked the buckets up from the well, sloshing water as he did so. _How could you let yourself be so taken in with her? What are you thinking, trusting a woman you hardly know?_  After his initial rage subsided, Sandor had to admit that what he felt for Sansa went far deeper than physical attraction or nostalgia for his childhood friend; there was an undeniable connection between them. Still, it was commonly known selkies would always long for the sea and he was unwilling to give into his emotions just yet.

How would he ever allow himself to believe Sansa would truly choose to stay with him? Why would she do that-simply because she asked him to teach her how to be a proper woman and give her a place to stay? Bloody nonsense if he ever heard it. Setting the buckets down, he picked up an axe and angrily began chopping firewood until his skin and clothing was soaked with sweat and his fingers bled.

Jaime Lannister interrupted him. “Frustrated, are we?” The lion’s mocking laugh came from behind.

Grunting, Sandor turned to face him. “Might be. Could be.”

“Does this sudden enthusiasm for wood chopping have anything to do with a certain lovely young guest of yours?”

“Bugger off,” Sandor angrily spat out, drying off his face and chest with his tunic. “Bugger you.”

Jaime laughed and settled down to watch Sandor as he resumed hacking at a dry stump. “Did the clothes I sent over fit her?”

“I don’t know,” Sandor held the rest of his words in check; he couldn’t tell Jaime she hadn’t worn _any_ clothing as of yet, save for the sleeping gown. “She’s in too much pain for that and was still in her sleeping clothes when I left.”

“Is that so?” Jaime raised an eyebrow at him. “A lucky man you are, Clegane; she’s a beauty. I had Meryn take over for you with Joffrey so you can tend her.”

“That’s good of you.” Sandor replied stiffly, averting his gaze.

“He and the king leave for the hunt today. With the boy gone you’ll have nothing to do for a week at least,” Jaime winked at him. “The maester said she was hurt worse than previously thought.”

“Aye.

“Here, I brought you a book for her.” Jaime sighed exasperatedly. “Most men would be thrilled to have such a woman in their company and yet you act like your dog died.”

Sandor opened the book and snorted as he took in the liner art. “Ah, some buggering shit about knights and maidens; I’m sure she’ll like it.

“It’s the story of Florian and Jonquil; a classic tale.”

“A fool and his cunt,” Sandor snarled bitterly. “Nothing more.”

Jaime laughed again. “Just like a Clegane to cut to the heart of any matter. Seriously, though, a bit of such reading can help you understand the fairer sex and get rid of that permanent scowl of yours.”

Sandor spat at his feet. “Fuck off. I hate knights and spit on their vows-even the ones in the stories.”

Shaking his head, Jaime patted him on the shoulder. “Nevertheless, the way Sansa looked at you yesterday said all to plainly that you are her Florian, despite your uncouth behavior. Good day, Clegane.”

When Sandor returned to the villa, he found Sansa out on the balcony. She was as naked as her nameday stretched out on the chaise. She looked like a goddess, the Maiden made flesh, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of her.  After his initial surprise, Sandor set down the buckets and hurried outside to her.

“Sansa, bloody hells!” He snarled a bit louder than he intended. “What are you doing?!” His eyes fell to the deep purple bruises blooming along her ribcage and upper thighs.

“I am bathing in the selkie way,” Sansa began uncertainly, rubbing her hands over her sides. “What is wrong?”

After scanning their surroundings, Sandor hissed through gritted teeth, “Did anyone see you out here like this?”

Glancing around self-consciously, Sansa bit her lips and sheepishly replied, “I do not know. I did not look around before I came out. Are you expecting company?”

“No.” Irritated, Sandor huffed out a sign and threw a blanket over her shoulders. “That is not how humans bathe. I showed you yesterday, remember? And I told you not to go out without clothing.”

“The sun felt so good that I forgot.” Sansa’s lower lip began to tremble. Sandor longed to kiss her pouty mouth and wondered if she would welcome such attentions.

“Fuck, girl, it’s nothing to cry over,” Sandor rubbed his hand over his face. “You must wear clothing outside at all times. If any of these damned soldiers around here see you, there will be trouble.”

“Oh, my mother and father both warned me of such!” Sansa recoiled in horror. “Is it true they force women into sexual relations?”

He scowled at her. “Aye it’s true, and it’s not sex, it’s rape. It’s violent and terrible, believe that.”

“Human men are so very contrary; we have nothing to compare to it at sea.” Sansa wrung her hands anxiously. “Please do not be angry; I do not wish to cause you trouble. I know that my nakedness is offensive.”

“Never mind that. Promise me you will be careful.”

“Oh I do, Sandor,” she took his hand and held it against her bare breast. “I promise I will be more careful.”

His body reacted to her instantly; swallowing hard, Sandor moved away from her. “I am not angry, damn it. I need you to be wary. You’ll end up raped or worse if you don’t watch yourself. We’re in a dangerous place, lass.” Sandor sat down beside her on the chaise and brushed a lock of hair from Sansa’s face. 

The look of absolute trust in her eyes nearly unmanned him as she met his gaze. “The sight of you naked is not distasteful, gods be damned; I only wish it were. You are beautiful and so bloody desirable I can hardly see straight. I’m not the only man to notice, either.”

Sansa was deeply touched that he was so concerned about her wellbeing. _Sandor must love me very much to worry so about me._ Blushing, she shyly leaned toward him and brushed her lips across his jawline. “So then, you are worried about me, not angry?”

Sandor traced his thumb over her bottom lip. “Worried, aye,” he rasped harshly. The sound reminded Sansa of the steel scraping against stone on the docks. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, Sansa.”

 “I will be careful,” she smiled tremulously at him. “Let us go in; I will take the human bath now, and then I wish to eat.”

Shifting on his feet, Sandor cupped her face in his hands. “I shouldn’t stay with you while you do, um, that.”

“Must you go?” Sansa breathed out, overwhelmed by the wonderful thrill of his touch.

“It’s just that I’ve got wood for the fireplace that needs bringing. There’s going to be a storm later.”

Slowly she rose to her feet and caressed his cheek. “You are not the only one with needs, Sandor. I am not a mindless animal, but a woman who loves and longs for you as well. You must not fear that I will abandon you.”

Softly Sansa continued caressing his face as she tenderly regarded him. Deeply moved, Sandor swallowed hard with his jaw tightly clenched. “I-I’ll help you into the tub, then.”

Sansa began to speak when a sharp rapping on the door interrupted them. After settling her in the water, he closed the door to the bedchamber and hurried toward the main entrance.

“What the fuck is it?” Sandor snarled as he jerked the door open, his eyes narrowing at Prince Joffrey’s trembling page.

“The prince, milord…” the young man gaped at Sandor’s scars. “He wants to show you what he caught at sea before he goes on the hunt.”

“Bloody hells, I don’t care what he-“

“He said it would only take a minute. He wants you to take care of his catch while he is away.”

“Take care of it? What in bloody hells does that mean? I’m no game keep.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but I do not know the answer to your question. I was sent to bring you directly.”

“Give me a minute,” Sandor slammed the door in the page’s face. “Sansa, the prince is calling for me. I’ll return shortly.”

“Alright, San-dor. I should be done by then.” Sansa smiled so sweetly at him that Sandor almost forgot he had to leave her.

“I’ll hurry back.” Sandor tersely answered as he drew on his sword belt.

* * *

When Sandor entered the great hall, his eyes fell on  an enormous copper tank filled with water. _Sea water_ , Sandor mused as he caught the briny aroma. _What the fuck is that fool boy up to now?_

“Dog, look! Look what I caught!” The prince shrieked excitedly. His younger sister and grandfather stood nearby. Lord Varys, the so-called Master of Whisperers, knelt beside the tank, the man clearly mesmerized by the creatures inside.

Groaning inwardly, Sandor stepped forward and took a glance inside. “Seals, aye. What will you do with them?”

“Not just any seals, you fool! These are selkies!”

Sandor’s heart dropped; carefully he schooled his face into an expression of passive interest. “No such thing, boy.”

“You see?” Lord Tywin raised his brow. “Even a man of Clegane’s meager birth can see that.”

“Do you dare question the word of a prince?” The boy shrilly replied. “One day I will be KING!”

The Spider flinched at the prince’s tone. “And no doubt you will be a just one at that. What shall you do with these _selkies_ , your Grace?”

“I shall keep them, have them studied, mayhap. Kill them when I tire of them.”

“Oh, no brother, please!” Myrcella clutched at his arm. “Not like the kittens! I will tell Father!”

“Shut up, girl!” Joffrey jerked away from her. Frowning, Lord Tywin drew the crying girl close to his chest and motioned toward Cersei.

Turning to Sandor, Joffrey smirked proudly. “What do you think, Dog? You’re the fisherman; are they selkies or not?”

“It’s not my place to question princes,” Sandor shrugged casually, though his stomach lurched each time Joffrey repeated the word. “If you think so, boy.”

“Do you know how to make them change into humans?”

Before Sandor could reply, Lord Tywin’s interrupted, “Cersei, the prince is tired. See that he rests before he and the king leave for the hunt.”

“I’m not tired!” Joffrey pounded his fist on the tank.

“Come, my love,” Cersei held her hand out to him. “The creatures will be there after your rest. You have a big day tomorrow.”

“Dog, see to it that nothing happens to them while I’m gone, understand?”

“As you wish.” Sandor bowed low.

When the queen and prince left the room, Lord Tywin stepped closer to Sandor with Lord Varys in tow. “Clegane, I will not have these stinking creatures befouling the great hall of Casterly Rock, do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“When the prince leaves tomorrow, see to it that they are freed and then have the entire room scoured. I don’t want to so much as catch the scent of sea water; do I make myself clear?”

“Very clear, Lord Tywin.”

“How is the girl you rescued?” Lord Varys asked. “I hear she was injured in the accident.”

“Yes, she was,” Sandor nodded, all the while wondering how Varys had heard about Sansa. “When I left her she was feeling somewhat better.”

“You may take your ease after you leave,” Tywin curtly answered and then turned to leave. “Varys, see him out.”

Varys nodded. “Before you go, you should take a closer look at the animals, Clegane; they are quite magnificent.”

Struggling to hide his annoyance, Sandor nodded and stepped closer. Inside there were two seals, one male and one female, staring warily back at him. Inexplicably, the young man felt drawn to them, and so he moved closer still for a better look.

The male was huge and gray and battle scarred, while the female was deep brown and quite small, still a pup. As the larger animal’s gaze met his own, its eyes suddenly changed from brown to a deep gray color.

Gasping, Sandor stepped back as disbelief washed over him. Could it be Sansa’s father? He looked up to see Varys watching him closely. “I see you have drawn the same conclusion as I have,” the Spider whispered close to his ear. “I think it is time you and I have a discussion.”

 _Fuck, what does the Spider suspect?_ “When?” Sandor finally rasped.

“Tomorrow, after the prince leaves. I will accompany you to release the animals. No one will hear us on the boat.”

“Alright,” Sandor weakly agreed. “We’ll leave at dusk.”

“Perhaps Lady Sansa would like to join us?”

“Aye, perhaps,” Sandor abruptly turned and left the room.


	10. Chapter 10

Sandor had no idea how to put in plain words that he suspected Joffrey had captured Sansa’s sister and father and now held them captive in the great hall. He couldn’t very well hide it from her, either, for she seemed to see into his soul whenever she looked at him. Surely Sansa would have a multitude of questions for which he had no answer. Sandor could hardly explain to himself how he came to such a conclusion; all he knew was that when he looked into the older seal’s eyes, it had been just like staring into her own when they were children.

The only difference between them was that Sansa’s eyes turned blue whereas the older seal’s turned gray. Did selkies have control over such transformations? If they could change skins, it stood to reason that they could change eye color as well. Sandor needed to ask her more about them.

Sansa’s mother and father both knew about him; she had said as much in their conversations. Her father even told her to bring him back to the beach when he was injured.  Did the old seal somehow recognize him and trusted him enough to reveal his true nature? After gathering up food to break their fast, Sandor returned to the villa with a heavy heart.

The risk to Sansa was very great if her father and sister were somehow discovered to be selkies. And what was Varys’ stake in this mess? Just what did the Spider think he knew about Sansa? Obviously the Lannisters were already curious enough about her to make inquiries.

Deep concern welled in his heart for his beloved little bird; Sandor could not bear the idea of causing her pain or worry but neither would he lie to her. Nothing could be done until after Joffrey left anyway. After much debate within himself, Sandor decided that she had been through enough already, and he would give her another day to recuperate before telling her of his suspicions.

When Sandor entered the bedchamber, Sansa was still in the bathtub, shivering. “I could not get out, San-dor; the pain is too much,” she whispered, holding her side. “It felt better when I was warm.”

Cursing, Sandor lifted her out of the tub with care. “Forgive me, lass. I didn’t expect to be gone so long. Let’s get you under the covers.”

Sansa clung to him as he settled her down under the furs. “Please, lie next to me until I warm up.” When Sandor started to climb in beside her, she shyly whispered, “Please, take off your upper garment. I want to feel your skin.”

“Bloody hells, woman. Mean to tempt me further, do you? Running around as naked as your nameday isn’t enough?” Sandor cursed under his breath while shrugging off his tunic. Gently he then wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to his chest.

“No, I do not wish to tempt you. I merely want to be close to you.” Sansa snuggled against his bare skin. “You feel so good, San-dor. I will never wear another sleeping garment, for last night I was denied the pleasure of your skin next to mine.”

Sandor almost choked on her words. “You like this, do you?” He rasped into her ear, the lacings on his breeches painfully tightening in response. Carefully he began running his hands over her back and down her hips, all the while trying to gauge her reaction to his attentions.

“Oh, yes, very much.” She wriggled delightedly in his arms, the innocent gesture arousing the man further. “You should not wear a sleeping garment either. Promise me.”

They embraced each other, enjoying the silence and the solace of the other. Never had Sandor imagined something as simple as holding a woman could feel so utterly satisfying. Sansa slowly began stroking his back and shoulders. “Alright, I won’t wear a tunic to bed anymore,” he finally whispered into her hair, overwhelmed by the intimacy they were sharing. “Feel better now?”

“Yes.” Sansa rested her cheek against his chest. “I remember the last time I held you in such a way. I had placed you on the sandbar after you were burned. I did not know how to comfort you so I kissed you.”

“I remember,” Sandor answered hoarsely. “A sweet kiss it was, too. Then you cut your hair and tied it to my wrist.”

“So you do remember!” Sansa laughed while her hands continued wandering over his body. “I feared you would not. You smelled so good, felt so warm…just as you do now. I could not bear to leave without some assurance you would remember me.” Shyly she pulled away from him, blushing. “But it is most different now, isn’t it?”

Raising his brow, Sandor nodded. “Indeed.”

“We were bonded that day, you know.” Sansa traced circles over his stomach curiously, seemingly absorbed in the rippled muscles of his abdomen. Suddenly she bit her lip as though she revealed more than she intended.

“How is that?” Sandor had no idea what she meant by bonded, and the feel of her soft fingers exploring his body made thinking difficult. “Bonded-what do you mean?”

Nervously she bit her lip and began running her fingers through his chest hair. “The old gods joined us that day, and bonded us permanently together for life.”

 _What a buggering load of manure_ , Sandor snorted contemptuously. “Did they? How do you know that? Did they give you a sign?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact they did!” Sansa pulled away from him, her eyes glittering angrily. “Why do you think I searched for you? Why do you suppose I returned to this place a thousand times hoping for a glimpse of you?”

As ridiculous an idea as it was, there certainly was no other was to explain their connection. Sansa had prayed for him, sang to him, and he could not deny it was comforting. Cursing himself, Sandor stroked her back gently. “I don’t know. Tell me.”

“I-I dreamed of you, of this place! I saw you as you are now! I felt your distress, your fear, your anger-all of you, in my heart!” Desperately she searched his eyes. “Did you not feel me as well?”

Sandor didn’t want to think about the gods or bonding or any of the rest of that nonsense, especially with Sansa naked in his arms. All he knew for certain is that from that day forward, he also dreamt of her, saw her as she matured, and felt drawn to the sea to find her, and Sansa’s explanation for the unusual occurrence seemed as good as any.

“I did, lass,” Sandor quietly admitted as she cried in his arms. “Shh, I felt it too. I dreamed of you as well.” The bond, as she called it, felt stronger still ever since she returned but since he could not make himself accept such a thing just yet,  he chose to keep that to himself.

Sobbing out her relief, Sansa buried her face in his chest, wetting his skin with her tears. “I knew you must have felt it too!” Why can you not just admit it?”

“Men don’t express themselves like women do, that’s all.” Sandor didn’t want to go into it with her just then and surprisingly, Sansa seemed to accept his feeble rationalization. “All this over a trifle. Calm yourself. You’re injured; you must rest.”

“I cannot sleep anymore.  I am most hungry,” she sniffled.

Chuckling, Sandor tipped her chin up to him and wiped away her tears with the rough pad of his thumb. “I brought us a meal. First, you dress.”

“Would you show me how?”

“Aye,” Sandor got out of bed and pulled on his tunic. “Did you see the clothes?”

She nodded eagerly. “Everything is so very beautiful! I cannot thank you enough for your generosity.”

“Tis nothing, lass; I make good coin and rarely spend it on myself.” Sandor selected a deep green silk gown, ivory shift, smallclothes and matching stockings. “This will match your hair. Come out from under the covers.”

Gingerly she rose and sat on the edge of the bed. “These are smallclothes; they go on first. They cover your woman’s place.” When Sansa gave him a quizzical look, Sandor cleared his throat and gestured between her legs. Glancing down, Sansa blushed deeply and took them from him.

“Here, one leg goes through each hole and you tie the lacings on either side.”

After Sansa fumbled with it a bit, she stepped back for his approval. “Is this right?”

Nodding, Sandor coughed again and handed her the shift. “Pull this over your head and put your arms in each hole, just like the sleeping gown.”

Sansa easily put on the garment, after which she turned for his approval.

“Now sit down on the bed again.” When she did, Sandor patted her foot. “Place your foot on my knee. These are stockings; women wear them over their legs.”

“It seems to be quite complicated, this getting dressed.” Sansa muttered somewhat irritably.

“I don’t make the garments, damn it; I just know how women wear them.” Sandor growled low, his words bringing a peel of laughter from Sansa.

“The idea of you making women’s clothes is so funny!” After a moment, she regarded him suspiciously. “How do you know all of this? Did you watch your mother? Or did you learn it from a woman you mated with?”

Detecting a hint of jealously in Sansa’s tone, Sandor wanted to see how she would react to his answer. “The women _I fucked_ , you mean?”

Her face went scarlet, amusing him all the more. “Y-yes,” she finally sputtered out. “Those women.”

“I never stuck around with the whores,” Sandor explained. “You pay them for one thing and one thing only.”

Sansa gasped audibly.

Sandor continued nonchalantly helping her dress. “But to answer your question, I watched my mother some as a boy.”

Sansa’s smile returned, the young woman seemingly pleased. Gently Sandor eased the stocking over her foot and up her leg. His knuckles brushed against the soft skin of her inner thighs as he fastened it to her smallclothes. Stifling a sharp intake of breath, he looked up to see Sansa’s cheeks were bright red.

“When did you start feeling embarrassed around me, lass?” Sandor frowned at her.

“When I-“ Sansa paused and touched her cheeks self-consciously. “Forgive me, I am very attracted to you, and it just happens.”

“Attracted, is that it? And jealous a bit, are you?”

“Yes,” Sansa bristled. “I do not wish to think about you and any other woman.”

“And why is that?” Sandor challenged her, leaning against her knees and taking her face into his hands.

“Because-because I long to have you as my mate.” Sansa whispered, staring into his eyes with a look Sandor had never before seen in a woman. “Selkies do not-fuck, to use your word. We mate for life and remain faithful to that person.”

Her words sobered him up considerably. If he did not know better, Sandor would have thought Sansa was experiencing more than just attraction; was it possible the little bird was in love with him, truly?

“Yes, I-I love you,” Sansa quietly added, confirming his thoughts. He had not said that out loud. Stunned, Sandor gaped at her.

“I know it is very sudden, but the bond has made it feel as though we have been together our entire lives and-“

Sandor silenced her by bringing his lips to hers and tentatively kissing her. Sansa eagerly responded, tangling her hand in his hair and deepening the kiss. Slowly they explored each other, their mouths and tongues and hands expressing what words could not. Panting heavily, Sandor abruptly pulled away from her. “Sansa, we have to stop this now before I take you.”

“Alright,” Sansa nodded as she smoothed down her hair. Never had she looked more beautiful to Sandor: her desire, _for him_ , had quickened her breath, glazed her eyes and flushed her cheeks prettily as she sat before him.

Silently Sandor pulled the gown over her head and laced up the back. Meekly Sansa submitted to his attentions and then stepped into the slippers Sandor laid in front of her. “Oh, my! This will require practice!” Sansa awkwardly wobbled on the low heels.

“Aye,” Sandor slyly smiled, gesturing to the table. “When Sarah learned, she fell quite a bit. She was my sister. Remember her, do you?”

“I do remember her,” Sansa wrapped her hands around his. “She was very beautiful and kind.”

“Yes, she was,” Sandor cleared his throat and moved away from her. “A true lady.”

Biting her lip, Sansa moved closer to him. “San-dor, there is something I must tell you about her.”

His head snapped up to her. “What?”

“I-I was there when she died. I was hiding among the rocks from your brother, and-“

“WHAT?” Sandor roared, gripped her shoulders tightly. “You were there-with Gregor?”

Sansa began trembling in his arms, and so Sandor immediately turned her loose. “Come here, little bird,” he sat down and softly patted his knee. Sansa went to him at once and gently placed herself on his lap, then wrapped her arms around his neck. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Sandor raised her hand up to his mouth and kissed it tenderly. “I was merely surprised. Tell me.”

“I had been sunning on the rocks, waiting for you, and I saw your brother with her. They were hunting abalone, I think,” Sansa bit her lip. “Your brother struck her very hard, I do not know why, and she fell into the water.”

Disbelief and rage washed over Sandor but not wanting to scare her further, the man fought to remain calm. “Go on.”

“I went to her, and  I carried her beneath the waves to my family home, but our maester could not save her!” Sansa began to cry into his shoulder; gently he pulled her into a tight embrace, and for the first time, Sandor allowed his own tears to fall freely.

“I grieved so terribly for you, San-dor. I was just a pup still and could not speak the Common tongue well. I longed to tell you what happened, and that I was so very sorry, but was so upset whenever I saw you that the words fled. Forgive me.”

“No, lass, there is nothing to forgive,” Sandor smoothed his hands over her back. “You tried to save her; that is more than enough.” Gently he kissed her forehead. “You saved me as well.”

“My brother and I both did,” Sansa whispered. “Jon changed his shape and went to the castle to alert them; that is how Lord Tywin found you.”

Squinting, Sandor thought back to that day. “Yes…yes, I remember him. A dark haired young man in fisherman’s clothes that did not fit! That was your brother, Jon?”

“Yes! You remember him! He will be so excited to hear that. Father did not want us to do more than leave you on the beach but Jon could not do it; he had to be certain you were found and treated.”

“Sansa,” Sandor patted her upper thighs. “About your father…I believe Joffrey has him captive, him and your sister too.”

“What?” She pulled away sharply.

“Aye, they are in the great hall.” After a moment, Sandor offered, “I can take you there, after we eat.”

She gasped excitedly.

“But you must promise to remain calm or the Lannisters will become suspicious.”

“Yes, I promise,” Sansa threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. “Are they hurt?”

“No, not that I could tell. Varys and I are supposed to release them in the ocean tomorrow. It is a very great secret so you cannot let on to anyone.”

“Thank you, San-dor.” Sansa caressed his cheek.

“Now, we eat,” he pushed the plate toward her. “I brought you plenty of fish.”

After several lessons on the proper use of a knife and fork, Sansa finally managed to master it well enough to finish her meal. “What a silly idea, to eat with such utensils when fingers and hands work much better.”

Laughing, Sandor agreed. “Wash your hands and then we go to your father.”

Eagerly Sansa donned her cloak and allowed Sandor to lead her to the main castle of Casterly Rock.


	11. Chapter 11

They walked together through the castle in comfortable silence. Sandor walked slowly so that she could easily keep his pace. Beaming, Sansa supported herself on his arm while eagerly taking in the splendor of Casterly Rock. Delightedly she pointed to objects of interest, amusing Sandor with her childish ways.

Sansa most certainly did not look like a child, however, for the deep forest green gown hugged her womanly curves and accentuated her deep auburn hair. Despite her time spent in the sun, Sansa’s skin was the color of cream and her eyes sparkled brilliantly as she spoke to him. Having such a beautiful woman on his arm filled Sandor with pride.

The Lannister soldiers and noblemen passing them in the great corridors immediately took notice of her beauty; flummoxed to see such a stunning woman in the presence of the Hound, the men turned their heads to observe her as she passed. For her part, Sansa did not seem to notice their attentions, and if she did, she gave no indication of it.

“My lady,” Ser Boros nodded at her with a leering grin. In spite of their shiny armor and unmarred faces, it was apparent that Sansa only had eyes for him; turning toward them, Sansa gave them the barest whisper of a smile and nodded coolly. Just as suddenly her warm demeanor returned and she smiled up at Sandor once more. “This is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. What is the shiny substance covering the walls and doors?”

Sandor barely heard her question.   _Buggering bastards probably think she’s too good to be in the company of a dog,_ Sandor muttered under his breath, their apparent interest in Sansa filling his stomach with sickening dread. “Gold, lass.”

At once Sansa seemed to sense his worry, for she abruptly stopped and caressed his face with her fingertips. “What is it, San-dor? Are those men not your friends and fellow soldiers?” Sansa whispered, squeezing his arm. “Perhaps we should wait until they leave before we go to the great room.”

“No, lass, they are no friends of mine. They work with me, nothing more.” Sandor did not want her to be unduly fearful of Lord Tywin’s men. “You need not worry about them.”

His beautiful, kind hearted Sansa was truly an innocent, just the sort of woman the soldiers would be more than happy to grope or if given the chance, far worse. Sandor would not be able to live with himself if anything happened to her while she was in his charge. “You must be careful with them.”

“I will not even think about them, for I am your woman, and I will tell them so.” Sansa set her jaw determinedly, the sudden change taking him by surprise.

 _So she did notice them staring._ “Are you now?”

“Yes, I am.” Sansa blushed prettily.

Sandor could not help but wonder if he heard her correctly. “You fancy yourself mine-truly?”

“It is not a fancy, it is the truth. I am yours as you are mine, for we are bonded. Can you not feel it even now?” Sansa peeked out from under lowered lashes at him, trying to gauge his reaction as she rubbed circles over his heart.

Sandor knew she could feel his inner turmoil, just as he could sense her apprehension and fear of rejection. Earlier, when Sansa told him that she searched for him, had desperately needed to find him, Sandor hardly knew what to make of her odd words. She claimed they were bonded, but Sandor believed it was some selkie superstition meant to explain love or friendship, not an actual, physical connection.

Skeptical, Sandor resisted believing it even possible. But somehow, in the span of a day, he felt the same deep attachment with her, and it frightened him like nothing else.  As Sansa stood holding his hands in her own, the very nearness of her made thinking clearly a challenge. Her presence consumed him, occupying all of Sandor’s attention, as though his entire world centered on her.

Overwhelmed as Sandor was by the union, it did nothing to prevent the spike of anxiety Sansa’s words brought forth in the man. Uncertainty followed, for he feared he would not adequately be able to protect her in his current state of emotional upheaval.  “I do, Sansa, I do,” Sandor finally cleared his throat, desperately striving to distinguish her emotions from his own as he spoke. “Best not say anything, Sansa; we don’t want to raise suspicions about your origins now, do we?”

“Of course; you are most clever. But you must not worry,” Sansa pulled him close. “I will not speak to them beyond mere polite conversation.”

Touching Sansa had developed into a physical need, much like hunger or thirst, and Sandor craved contact with her. Unable to resist, Sandor took her in his arms; though they were in the middle of Casterly Rock,  it was all he could do to keep his hands from wandering over her body.

The feel of her soft curves under his hands, her warm body pressed against his chest, the sweet smell of her hair intoxicated the man in a way that was both pleasurable and troubling. Sansa laughed softly and tenderly kissed his cheek.

Gently moving away from her, Sandor slipped her arm back through his own. In truth, the whole situation agitated him. He knew it was too early to become intimate with her, and yet he could not help wanting more of her. Would it scare the little bird if he admitted how powerfully he desired her?

This was far more than just a carnal reaction Sansa was eliciting from him, Sandor knew;  it was as though they were physically connected, joined in such a manner that he could no longer tell where he left off and Sansa began. Their continued physical contact only intensified the sensation.

When he managed to quiet his thoughts, Sandor heard the echoing of her thoughts as well; not complete ideas, just words here and there, much as she had done with him earlier. It seemed Sansa had her reservations as well, though most of it seemed centered on leaving her family to stay with him.

“I feel your anxiety.” Tipping up her chin to him, Sandor stared into her eyes. “You fear I won’t want you, is that it?”

Sansa nodded, averting her gaze.

Sandor held onto her firmly. “Look at me. You fear I wouldn’t let you go back to your family, is that the way of it?”

A group of highborn ladies walked by just then, staring at them curiously and tittering as they openly gaped at Sansa’s gown. Sighing, Sandor shook his head. “I do want you, lass, more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my gods forsaken life,” he leaned in and whispered hoarsely in Sansa’s ear. “But I’ll not force you to stay with me.”

With tears glistening in her eyes, Sansa nodded slowly, the young woman seemingly relieved. “Thank you for telling me. I-“

“Clegane, this must be the young woman Jaime spoke to me about,” Lord Tywin interrupted them, his penetrating gaze sweeping over Sansa’s figure approvingly as he spoke. “How do you do, my lady. I am Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock.”

“I am Sansa Stark of House Stark. I am most pleased to meet you,” Sansa accepted his extended hand and attempted to bow before him. “I cannot thank you enough for your generosity.”

Tywin waved his hand dismissively. “It is nothing, my lady. This is my daughter, Cersei.  I believe you have met my son, Jaime.”

Bowing, Sansa smiled at Jaime and then stared in awe at the golden haired woman, who haughtily squinted at her before turning away.

“Oh, you are so very beautiful, my lady,” Sansa awkwardly bowed, wincing in pain as she did so. “You favor your brother.”

“That is the worst curtsey I have ever seen.” Cersei glared at her. Jaime rolled his eyes at Sandor.

“Forgive my manners; I am injured and unable to bow in an acceptable way.” Sansa stared at her feet.

Sensing her anxiety sent a wave of fury radiating through Sandor’s body but he remained silent.  

Gripping his bicep, Sansa continued, “I am most grateful to you, Lord Tywin, for the care you have afforded me and your generous hospitality.”

Tywin looked over Cersei before replying. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, my lord, you are most kind,” Sansa raised her eyes to him. “I also am very appreciative for your stewardship of my childhood friend as well.”

“Clegane is a valuable asset. I can assure you that my investment in him has paid off most handsomely.”

Sandor stiffened at that. Sansa stroked his arm, and at once her touch soothed him. “Sandor has indeed changed; he has grown into the most beautiful of men. Under your training he has become a fierce Lannister soldier whom all fear.”

“What of his scars, my lady?” Cersei raised her brow and sneered. “You cannot pretend you do not see them.”

“Cersei-“ Jaime warned. “Leave it be.”

“His scars make him all the more desirable,” Sansa answered sincerely, “for they expose to the world what is rarely seen with the naked eye; the strength of his soul, his will to survive, endurance and bravery. The scars are the embodiment of the healing Sandor has achieved.”

Gritting his teeth, Sandor moved in front of her. “My lord, with your permission I would like to show Sansa the seals Prince Joffrey caught.”

“Certainly, Clegane. My dear, have you ever seen seals?”

“Not in captivity, no, my lord.” Sansa smiled brightly, her demeanor carefully schooled, disguising the alarm echoing through Sandor’s body.

Jaime stepped forward and studied her closely. “I am most grateful for the opportunity to show you the way.”

“Carry on then.” Lord Tywin waved them away.

Cursing, Sandor nodded before entering the great hall after Jaime. Upon seeing the seals in the tank, Sansa gasped audibly and raised her hand to her throat. “Oh, my San-dor, just look at them!”

“They are magnificent, are they not?” Jaime grinned at her.

“Indeed,” Sansa slowly assented. “May I approach the tank?”

“Absolutely,” Jaime gestured to her, holding out his hand. “Are you feeling quite well, my lady? You are looking pale.”

Sandor thought it odd that he could not feel Sansa’s apparent discomfort; earlier when she was shivering in the tub, her misery hit him hard, as though he had been doused with a bucket of ice water. Underneath her mannered behavior, Sandor sensed a measure of deception in her.

“I am feeling a bit weak,” Sansa smiled wanly at him. “Would you be so good as to call for a carriage?”

 _Clever girl._ “Sansa, it is not acceptable in the South to ask the lord’s son for a carriage,” Sandor pulled her closer to him. “I will go.”

“It is alright, Clegane; Sansa is our guest and I am happy to do as she asks. Keep an eye on her, will you?” Jaime winked as he hurried out of the great hall.

As soon as Sansa was certain Jaime was gone, she urged Sandor toward the water, holding her side all the while. “Father, Arya, oh gods, are you alright?”

Arya woofed softly while Ned transformed into his selkie form. “Yes child. And you?” Her father frowned, casting a withering glare at Sandor. “Has he hurt you?”

“No, San-dor has taken care of me. I am a bit injured from struggling in the net that captured me. Allow me to introduce him: this is my beloved San-dor. San-dor, this is my father Lord Eddard Stark and my sister, Lady Arya.” Sansa turned to Arya. “She says that she’s no lady and she wants you to know it.”

Ned laughed and nodded.  Sandor tipped his head at both of them.

Arya continued barking until Sansa frowned and patted her neck. “A large boat caught you as well?”

“What the fuck-you understand her?” Sandor asked incredulously.

“Certainly Sansa understands her own flesh and blood.” Ned shook his head. “What did you imagine she spoke as a child when she played with you in the water?”

“I never thought of it.” Sandor answered truthfully.

Scowling, Ned studied him carefully. “Selkies have to learn the Common tongue and usually cannot master it until they are near adolescence. Sansa, are you certain this man is your bonded mate?”

“Forgive me, I-“ Sandor stammered,  the young man failing to understand what Sansa’s father expected from him.

“It is alright, San-dor,” Sansa smiled. “Yes, Father, I am most certain. Please try to get along with him, for he is very dear to me.”

“We will speak of this later. You must find a way to get us back to the water right now. That boy will kill us for certain.” Ned sighed and shook his head. “He is nothing like his father.”

“No, we will not allow that to happen.” Tears filled Sansa’s eyes; pleadingly she turned to Sandor. “What can we do for them? Arya is too little to make the transformation and the water is too far from the castle.”

“Lord Varys has arranged for you to be returned to sea once the prince is on the hunt with his father.” Sandor answered warily. “Tomorrow he and I will make for the bay with the both of you on a fishing vessel.”

“Lord Varys?” Sansa and Ned ask in unison. Arya barked and clapped her fins, then swam circles in the tank.

“Yes,” Sandor frowned, glancing between the three of them. “What do you know of him?”

Arya barked enthusiastically, her mysterious speech causing Sansa to laugh. Sandor sharply turned to her. “Don’t fuck with me, lass. How do you know Varys? He is a dangerous man.”

“Forgive us, Sandor; Arya just pointed out that Varys is, in fact,  a merman. We have known him our entire lives; he poses no danger to us. We did not know he had come to live among the humans, though admittedly it has been many years since we saw him last.”

“He has lived among humans for many years hence. When you saw him, child, it was only because he returned so as to welcome your births and celebrate your namedays.”

“How kind!” Sansa patted Arya’s fin. “I will ask, Arya. Why did he not tell us?”

“He felt it best not to make it widely known among the selkie and mere peoples,” Ned replied. “Varys is nothing if not cautious.”

Sandor rubbed his face in disbelief, hardly able to comprehend all that was said. “You must stay as seals until you are back in the water. It will not do for anyone to discover your true identities. If not for Varys, Joffrey would have his men running experiments on you both as we speak.”

At his words, Ned reverted to his seal shape, just in time for Jaime to return. “Your carriage awaits, Lady Sansa.”

“Thank you, Ser Jaime,” she smiled sweetly at him as Sandor carried her toward the coach, not even sparing a final glimpse back at the tank.


	12. Chapter 12

Deep murky mist blanketing the city was a common autumn occurrence in Lannisport, and ominous sign of impending storms.  From the time he was a wee lad, Sandor’s father taught him to read the sky and the water; judging by the deep marine layer obscuring the coastline, the weather undoubtedly would take a turn for the worse before midnight.

Standing on the battlements, he observed the thick fog rolling in from the Sunset Sea with a heavy heart. Lord Varys stood grimly by his side, silently observing the body of the dead seal being carried out of Casterly Rock’s great hall and down to the dock.

“There is nothing you could have done,” the Spider offered uneasily. “The prince was determined to present the seal as a trophy to his father. Sealskin is highly prized in King’s Landing, you know.” His eyes roved over Sandor searchingly.

Unwilling to reveal his thoughts, Sandor kept his mouth shut. Jaime had informed them that the prince wanted both he and Varys to return with him to the capital at some point. He chose to ignore the Spider’s question in favor of another topic.

“Spearing an animal in a viewing pool is not hunting.” Sandor squinted through the thick grey gloom shrouding the castle. “Bloody coward.”

“Joffrey desperately wanted his father’s approval,” Varys replied with a shrug. “In his mind this was the only way, and after Robert’s explosive reaction, it is perhaps the last attempt he will make.”

“Bloody obvious, that.” No matter how hard Joffrey tried to please the king, the man seemed to relish humiliating his son in front of others. It seemed nothing about his son pleased the king, or perhaps it was that Robert sensed what everyone else discerned: that Joffrey was not his son.

A part of Sandor had even begun to feel sorry for the boy, for it was a far different relationship than he had with his own father. Pity soon gave way to outright hatred, however, for before long the prince displayed a sadistic streak that reminded him of Gregor, quashing any semblance of empathy he felt for the lad. It galled him that he would be expected to escort the little bastard back to the capital and spend his days serving him; a worse outcome he could not have imagined, and Sandor tried not to even think what would happen to Sansa then.

Even if he hurried and took her to wife, surely the Lannisters and Baratheons would not allow him to bring her to the Red Keep. Sighing heavily, Sandor sensed Sansa’s anxiety coiling in his stomach and compounding his own, making his breaths come in shallow gasps as her panic took hold of him.

Sandor swallowed hard, desperately trying to remain calm. “The king does take every opportunity to taunt the boy for his lack of skill handling weapons.” _And everything else_ , Sandor added silently.

“He wants to prove his manhood to his father. King Robert is an accomplished hunter.”

“A fool’s game. For fuck’s sake, was spearing Eddard the only way to do that? Of all the fucking fish in the sea, it’s a cruel joke of the gods that Joffrey captured Sansa’s father and sister.”

“I agree.” Varys shook his head. “Jaime and I arrived too late to save Lord Eddard.”

He had never known Varys to protect _anyone_. His uncanny ability to change his appearance, the sound of his voice, even his smell had mystified Sandor for years, making him highly suspicious of the man. Since learning about his true nature, however, much about the Master of Whisperers now made sense.

But what was Jaime’s stake in Lord Eddard and Arya’s return to sea? The golden lion had noticed Sansa’s beauty, of that he was certain. Did he suspect that she was a selkie? Would he try to steal her from Sandor, taking her skin and holding her captive? That was the only explanation; jealousy surged through him, causing Sandor to grip the rails tightly. “What did you think of him?” With great difficulty, Sandor suppressed his rage, his voice shaking as his spoke in a low rasp.

Varys curtly tipped his head while eying him warily. “He was a great man both on land and at sea. His daughter Lady Sansa has the bearings of a fine woman, and is very much like her father in both nature and temperament, though she has the look of her mother’s people.”

“She is a great lady; far better than any woman I have ever known,” Sandor agreed, avoiding Varys’ eyes _. Except my mother and sister_. He was not prepared to talk about them or give away his true feelings for Sansa to anyone, least of all the bloody Spider.

“I hope you appreciate the treasure you have and that you will be good to Lady Sansa.” Leaning in, Lord Varys whispered, “Is it true you are bonded?”

“So says she,” Sandor shrugged, unwilling to admit or deny anything that Varys suspected. “Might be, could be. How did you hear that?”

“I have little mice everywhere,” he grinned. More seriously, Varys added, “It is a powerful thing, the bonding. I have never known a human to be bonded with a selkie. As a human you may find it difficult to accept but you must respect it, cherish it and you will know great joy that few humans ever experience.”

Snorting, Sandor shook his head; he did indeed respect it, though he would be damned if he admitted it to the Spider. Still, he had many unanswered questions, and Varys’ acknowledgement of the phenomena made Sandor feel free to ask him. “It means Sansa can feel me now, doesn’t it? She senses my mood?”

Varys raised his brow, apparently discerning Sandor was already experiencing the effects. “Yes, as you feel her.”

It was true; ever since he learned of Lord Eddard’s death, a deep sense of fear pooled in his belly. “Aye, I do. She is most worried.”

“The bond allows her to sense your turmoil.” Varys cocked his head at Sandor. “I am certain Lady Sansa realizes the origin of your feelings lie with her father.”

Sandor nodded gravely as several Lannister guards approached. 

“What shall we do with it?” Ser Meryn asked.

“Since when is disposing of a dead animal a priority of the Kingsguard?” Clegane smirked at the men. “What next, polishing Lord Tywin’s gold? You men do that well enough already.”

“We serve the king, Hound.” Meryn rolled his eyes. “The prince doesn’t want it. His father doesn’t want it either and Lord Tywin wants the animal out of the great hall.”

“Have they skinned it?”

“No.”

“Then have it stored on ice until morning,” Sandor grunted disinterestedly while struggling to still his fury. “I’ll dispose of it properly and return the surviving animal to the sea.”

The men exchanged glances before Meryn finally ventured, “Joffrey won’t like that, Hound.”

“Imagine the sleepless nights that will bring me.” Clegane snarled at them. “Bugger him and bugger you.”

Varys rolled his eyes and waved at them dismissively. “Do as the Hound says, men, or I will have the king strip you of your titles myself. Sandor you will go at first light, understand?”

Sandor bowed. “I will cast off as soon as the weather clears, my lord.”

“Good. I’ll see to it that you have what you need. Come men, we have more important matters to attend.” The Kingsguard hurried toward the castle as Jaime waved the men inside.

“I’ll see to this,” Varys offered. “You best go speak to Lady Sansa.”

* * *

Sandor paced outside the villa, the man dreading facing the little bird. It had been the most enjoyable day in recent memory for Sandor, that is, until he was summoned by Lord Tywin. The thought of causing her suffering literally hurt the man, eliciting a singular pang to his stomach which he feared faintly echoed Sansa’s own misery.

After they returned from speaking with Lord Eddard, the couple peacefully passed the rest of the afternoon by discussing their unique connection, eating and resting. Sansa carefully shared the history and lore of the bond and surprisingly Sandor found it intriguing. With great animation, she had described the mystical red kelp forests of Winterfell where the old gods resided, and explained that they were the ones who made the connection between them.

Being a man that struggled with his belief in the gods, Sandor still had his doubts, but he could not deny that the more time he spent with her, the closer they became. Later that afternoon, Sansa grew tired and sore, and she begged Sandor to lie down beside her. Readily he agreed; Sandor contentedly held her against his chest while she slept, sating the impatient yearning for the feel of her in his arms at last.

When hunger beckoned, Sansa awakened him with gentle touches, soft kisses along his beard and whispered endearments. As Sandor tipped Sansa’s face up to his, she met his eyes and caressed his face, and the love he saw there brought an unexpected surge of emotion that nearly took Sandor’s breath away. 

No one had been so affectionate with him since his sister died. Not even Mary, to whom he handed over good coin, would give him anything beyond what he had paid for, though he had seen her run her fingers through other customer’s hair and kiss them on the cheek. It had both hurt and enraged the man, and when he took her, Sandor went hard and rough, the young man barely able to restrain his anger and shame.

He had given up hope that any woman would ever want his touch before Sansa; but Sandor could not deny that her gentle touch began to heal a part of his heart he thought long dead. Much to his delight it seemed as though Sansa could not stop touching him, no more than he could stop touching her.

The warmth of her skin called to Sandor, and Sansa eagerly returned his attentions. Seemingly unaware of the effect she was having on his body, Sansa insisted on sitting on his lap while they ate dinner, feeding him the choicest bites by hand and kissing his cheek by turns.

She was beautiful, affection, innocent and yet seductive.  Uninhibited, Sansa snuggled up close to him in bed, pressing her full breasts pn his chest and the curve of her pelvis and thigh against his as she wound her long legs around his own. When that became too much for Sandor, he would turn her over, only to have Sansa’s lovely rounded backside push firmly against his need as she rested her back against his chest. If she noticed his arousal, Sansa certainly didn’t seem to mind, intensifying Sandor’s lust for her all the more.

Sandor found her absolutely irresistible. Sansa was not the least bit inhibited with him, touching him and allowing him to touch her in any manner he chose without reservation. Emboldened, Sandor nibbled and tasted her fingers as she fed him, holding her gaze while the other arm snaked around her waist and settled on her hips, stroking her there.

He half expected her to push him away, but instead Sansa smiled sweetly at him. Sandor thoroughly enjoyed the deep flush that spread over her cheeks, her quickened breaths and the feel of her fingers trailing over his chest and abdomen, and most of all, Sansa’s beautiful blue eyes shining with desire _for him_. Just as Sandor was about to carry her to the bed, a knock on the door interrupted them: it was Meryn, announcing his presence was required in the great hall. And with that visit, everything changed.

Now Sandor would have to go inside and tell his beloved little bird that her father was dead. Though they were bonded, he had failed Sansa and failed to protect her family. Surely she would hate him, a prospect that both sickened and frightened Sandor more than any battle he had faced.

The thought of hurting Sansa weighed heavily upon him and choked his words when unexpectedly she opened the door.

“San-dor, I thought I felt you close,” she took him by the hand and led him inside. Sansa’s beautiful eyes were red and swollen, her pallor pale and wan. “I have needed you so. Whatever it is, I am ready to hear you.”

Sandor could hardly believe her words. After leading her to the chaise, he set her down on his knee. “This thing…it’s about your father…”

“Tell me, I wish to hear it from your lips.” Sansa interrupted shakily, pulling him closer still.

“He’s gone, little bird.”

”I knew it!” Tearfully she buried her face into his chest. “He is dead, isn’t he?”

“I’m sorry, lass. Varys and Jaime meant to stop Joffrey, but by the time they got to him it was too late.” Sandor whispered, pulling her tightly against him. “How did you know?”

“I fell asleep after you left. I saw it in my dreams,” Sansa sobbed against his chest. “I saw my father surrounded by the kings of the ocean, his face disappearing into the red kelp forest. He was speared through and the old gods welcomed him.” She shuddered beneath him.

“Aye.” Sandor felt helpless in the face of Sansa’s crushing grief, the young man understanding all too well the agony of losing a parent. Pulling a fur off the chaise, he wrapped her closer still. “He is at peace. Perhaps my sister and mother will find him there.”

“And my sister?” Sansa peered up at him from lowered lashes, her painful gaze searing through him. “What of her?”

“She is fine, Sansa, at least physically.” Sandor whispered into her hair. Sansa released a deep quivering sigh. “Varys and I went to her. She saw it all, poor pup.”

Sansa cried harder at his admission, but there was no way to blunt the truth of the matter. Experience taught Sandor that there were no words that could ease her suffering; the best he could do was hold her and tell her the truth. Very gently he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. “Easy lass. You’ve got to calm yourself or you won’t be able to breathe with your injuries.”

“I can’t feel you.” Sansa sniffled against his tunic. “Sandor, I cannot feel you.”

Puzzled, he brought her chin up to face him. “I’m holding you, lass. What do you mean you can’t feel me?”

“You are too far away,” she tugged at his tunic. “Take off our garments, please; I need to feel your skin against mine.”

“Alright.” Sandor assented, somewhat baffled by her request. Nonetheless, he would not deny her; after removing her gown, he stripped down to his smallclothes and lay down beside her.

Immediately Sansa crawled into his arms, clinging to him with all her might. “You must never leave me, San-dor,” she whispered against his skin while her fingers grappled for purchase. “You are my family now. I could not bear it; it is too painful to imagine.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Sansa,” Sandor gently stroked the bare skin of her back in even circles. Sansa’s misery settled into him, hardening his heart against Joffrey, Lord Tywin, even Jaime, though Sandor could not say why. He would make them pay for hurting his beloved Sansa in the worst imaginable way. “I’ll keep you safe. If anyone tries to hurt you or your sister, I’ll kill them.”

Impulsively Sansa guided his face down to hers and tenderly kissed him. “And I will never leave you, Sandor. You must believe that.”

A deep abiding peace fell over Sandor, warming his heart, and inexplicably, he believed her. “I do, lass, I do,” the man choked out finally as he stared at her, suddenly filled with emotion.  Satisfied, Sansa snuggled down against him and spent the rest of the night crying softly in his arms.


	13. Chapter 13

At first light, Sansa arose before Sandor and stared out at the emerging sun peeking over the purple water of the Sunset Sea. After saying prayers to the old gods, she somberly dressed in the dark in hopes of allowing her mate a few moments longer of rest.

Her head ached fretfully while her stomach twisted in knots as she moved about the room, gathering the various articles Sandor had taught her to wear the day before. Wincing, she grabbed the garment closest to her and slipped it over her shoulders, the previous days’ excitement over the new clothing now quashed by grief.

While fumbling with the lacings on the shift, out of the corner of her eye she spied Sandor wearily watching her closely, his brow furrowing deeply as he did so, and his attitude unwittingly brought a smile to Sansa’s lips.

After rubbing his eyes and stretching his muscular frame out on the bed, Sandor unhurriedly got up to help her. He remained silent though, save for a soft kiss on her cheek. Sansa was glad that he did not engage her in conversation, for she had a great deal on her mind and little inclination to speak. When he finished, Sandor pulled her close to his chest. It felt so good to have his warm arms surrounding her after the distressing night she spent that impulsively Sansa clung to him, allowing the feel of his skin to soothe her frayed nerves.

His chest rumbled against her cheek as Sandor chuckled low and stroked her hair. They held each other for several long moments before he gently moved away and began dressing himself. “I’ll be by your side the entire time, Sansa,” he spoke softly in her ear as she laced his tunic. “You need not fret. I’ll see that your father and sister are returned to Winterfell.”

“I know, dearest, and for that I am most grateful.” Sansa tearfully replied, caressing his face in her hands.  She sensed her bonded mate imagined the sudden death of her father was distressing her; however it was not his loss alone that haunted the young woman at present.

Until she came onto the land, Sansa’s dreams were peaceful, warm, filled with visions of Sandor as a grown man and paired with longing to be with him. During the last few nights, however, these pleasant diversions had been replaced with frightening apparitions, terrible in their intensity and realistic feel. Even praying and being wrapped in the arms of her beloved Sandor had not been enough to prevent them from recurring. The experiences left Sansa overwrought and exhausted.

Last night had been the worst yet. In her seal form, Sansa emerged from the sea to discover the entire surface of the water burned with a sulfuric green fire, illuminating a massive battle on land in its eerie glow as it spilled from the hull of passing war ships.  

Wave after wave of intense heat washed over her face as Sansa struggled to keep her head above water while the fumes stung her eyes and burned her cheeks. Knowing the substance could not possibly have occurred in nature, she curiously swam closer.

The liquid smelled of death; but before Sansa could warn her people to stand clear of the deadly cargo, the bodies of many dead fish, selkies, seals and mer people alike began bobbing to the surface around her, their number soon making swimming impossible. Horrified, Sansa frantically tried to move away from them but to no avail; she was surrounded by death, the smell of burned skins and the sight of blistered faces recalling Sandor’s own when she rescued him.

She had to get to the land but exhausted, it seemed that no matter how she tried, she drifted further out to see. In the far distance she finally spotted Sandor, outfitted in armor and a fearsome Hound’s helm, fighting bravely as waves of soldiers raced ashore. The castle he was defending, though, did not look like Casterly Rock, and the realization puzzled her greatly. Though Sansa called to him for help again and again, it seemed that Sandor could neither hear nor feel her.

 _What did it all mean?_ Sansa wracked her brain for answers. _Was it the gift of foresight from the old gods?_ She felt certain that it was, but since she had no point of reference to decipher the meaning, Sansa was not prepared to share the details of them with Sandor just yet.

She smiled at him sadly as she moved to the trunk. His eyes widened when he saw her lift her selkie cloak out of the oak cabinet and lay it at the foot of the bed. “It is only so that I may join my sister for a bit,” she kissed him tenderly, and at her words he let out a deep sigh.  “She needs help getting back to Winterfell. I must join her, and speak to my mother as well.”

“Do you want to return with them?” Sandor finally rasped.

“I do,” Sansa sighed sadly. “But I will not, Sandor, at least not permanently.”

“Why?”  Immediately Sandor cursed himself as soon as the words left his mouth; did it matter, truly, if it meant he could keep her for a little while longer?

“I am doomed to miss my family, no matter where I live,” Sansa sighed heavily. “Either here or at sea, I will miss my loved ones. The gods have forsaken me, it seems.”

Sandor tipped her face up to his. “Little bird, what do you mean? There is no need for you to stay here and pine for them. Return to them.”

“Do you no longer want me with you?” Her eyes filled with tears. Grasping at his chest, she began softly sobbing. “Are you angry that I wish to return my sister to our home?”

“No Sansa. Calm yourself. I’m no fool; I knew from the moment I heard your father was dead that you would want to return her yourself. I only meant that I’ll not stop you from going, if that is your wish.”

“Forgive me but as a human, you cannot understand, San-dor.” Sansa hugged her knees to her chest, rocking slightly on the featherbed. “The desire to live with you, to stay by your side and make a life together is stronger than anything I have ever known. It is instinctual, primal, almost like the need for air, for food and water.” She reached out to him. “I cannot leave you, for to be separated from you would suffocate my will to live.”

“You mustn’t say such, Sansa.” He muttered against her neck. Settling down behind her, Sandor wrapped his arms around her small waist and pulled her back flush against his chest.

In response, Sansa reached out and took him by the hands. “I have dreams that are so very real, they often frighten me,” Sansa shakily spoke her words. “I wish the maester was here to explain them to me.”

“Perhaps Varys could help you,” he offered. “He is of your people, and is reported to have mysterious powers.”

“Such as?” Sansa tilted her head.

“Even in human form, the man can change his appearance, the sound of his voice, even his smell,” Sandor shook his head at her wide eyed expression. “Even I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t believe it.”

“Yes, that is a good idea. He might be a shaman.” Fidgeting, she shyly regarded him. “The dreams, they inspired me, too, to fight for another day, to continue onward. And when I am with you, it has been easier than I ever thought possible to sing with the possibilities of life again, to imagine a day when all of this will be behind us and of the day we will start a family.”

Sandor’s lips ghosted over her ear and settled on her neck, lightly sucking there. At the touch of his mouth to her skin, Sansa let out a gasp which then melted into a soft moan as she tilted her head to give him better access.

“Will they have a funeral for your father?” Sandor rasped curiously when he came up for air.

“Funeral?” Sansa wrinkled her nose at him, confused.

“Yes, a funeral, where you say goodbye to your dead.”

She held his hands in her own. “No, San-dor; that is a human custom based on your spiritual beliefs, not ours. We are never truly far from our dead loved ones. Selkies believe that we return to the old gods in the kelp forest when we die and so we return once a year and make offerings there.”

“Oh, aye.” He shrugged.

“I returned to where I found your sister and made offerings San-dor, ever since she died in my arms.” Suddenly Sandor turned and stared at her with such intensity that it nearly took Sansa’s breath away. It was then that she realized that Sandor wondered if she would return soon, if at all, and the prospect of their separation frightened him. “I will be back later in the day, perhaps around supper time. You must trust me.”

“Return when you are ready, lass,” he tightly muttered before he brushed his lips against hers and then moved away.

After Sandor strapped on his light mail, he led her to the great hall.  There was her sister Arya, looking so very small inside the holding tank. She was mournfully swimming in circles in the same bloody water where their father was killed, the rosy tinge staining her fur. Tearfully Sansa knelt to soothe her, whispering softly to her as Varys helped Sandor wrap her in wet towels.

“It isn’t far, my lady, to the bay leading to your people.” Varys spoke in the selkie tongue. “From there I will escort Arya to Winterfell.”

“No, my lord, I will do it,” Sansa answered, “she is blood of my blood; it is only right. I thank you for the offer, Lord Varys.”

He tipped his head to her.

“If you would be so good, you can return to take me back to the castle tomorrow.”

Lord Varys shook his head. “I cannot let you go alone; it would not please your father,” he sternly replied. “He still watches over us from the afterlife, you know. We must abide by his wishes.”

“I know.” Sansa whispered, hastily wiping her tears.

“I will go with the two of you, my lady. I needs speak to your mother.”

Sighing, Sansa continued to stroke her sister’s side. “You have to tell your bonded mate, sister, that you mean to return to Winterfell,” the young seal barked softly. “It’s not fair for you to just leave him. He may be ugly but he cares for you; anyone can see it.”

“Arya, for shame; he is not ugly,” Sansa reproved delicately, her gentle gaze sweeping over Sandor’s imposing form at the helm. “San-dor is the most beautiful of men. I appreciate your concern, Arya, but I have already told him.”

“Good.” Arya woofed back.

Lord Varys squinted at her. “And the Hound doesn’t mind?”

“No.” Sansa wrung her hands.  Sandor’s fear clawed at her stomach, but deep down she understood his anxiety was that she would never return to _him_.  For a moment the wild idea of taking Sandor with her to Winterfell came to mind, but Sansa dashed the thought as quickly as it came. He would never be able to breathe under the water long enough to reach the fresh air reserves of the underwater castle.

Gazing out at the horizon, Varys nodded understandingly. “Have you been ill? You look pale, my dear.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Sansa raised her hand to her cheek self-consciously. “I need to speak to our maester about these unusual dreams I have been having lately.”

“Have they been troubling you, my lady?” His expression unreadable, Varys folded his hands beneath the sleeves of his robes.

“Very much so.” Sansa admitted. “It is most distressing.”

“Does Clegane know?”

Subconsciously her eyes sought him out: Sandor stood at the end of the helm, watching them closely. Sansa shook her head. “No, I have not spoken of it.”

“I have a similar affliction.” Lord Varys looked toward Sandor and then lowered his voice. “It is quite unusual that we both should have them.”

“Indeed!” Sansa exclaimed.

“What does it mean?” Arya looked between them.

“Let us speak no more of it until we see your mother and maester, my lady.”

“As you wish.” Puzzled, the sisters exchanged glances.

When they reached the area of the bay where Sandor had found Sansa, he anchored the boat and then carefully lifted Arya into the water. Once she was swimming on her own, Sandor then released Ned’s body into the watery deep.

Lord Varys shed his robes and followed them into the sea, his body transforming as soon as the water made contact with his skin. “I’ll go ahead of you,” he called, leading Arya away from the vessel. “Hurry along, my lady.”

Holding Sandor’s gaze, Sansa slowly stripped herself of her gown, the young woman relishing the obvious delight with which her mate regarded her. His eyes fell to her neck and chest before roaming lower to her stomach and over her thighs, and Sandor leisurely took in every detail of her body as though he were trying to commit it to memory.

Despite the pain echoing through her heart, watching him do so sent a thrill through Sansa. When fully nude, she then closed the distance between them. “Take me in your arms, San-dor, please.”

At once he obeyed, the man carefully lifting her into his arms. Sansa caressed Sandor’s face as she gazed longingly into his stern gray eyes. “Tell me that you are not angry with me, Sandor.”

“I am not angry, little bird.” His eyes shifted away slightly before returning to hers.

“Tell me that you trust me, that you trust in our bond, and that you believe without a doubt that I will return to you.”

Hanging his head, Sandor rested his forehead against her breast. “I want to, lass, I do, but I cannot.”

Biting her lip, Sansa willed her tears gone. “I understand San-dor but I am determined to prove the depth of my commitment to you.” Resting her hand over his heart, Sansa whispered, “You will feel it in here, my love, I swear it on the old gods.” Tentatively she then pressed her lips against his.

Grasping her tightly by the waist, Sandor deepened the kiss, opening his mouth to her as he did so. Overwhelmed by his passion, Sansa tangled her hands in his hair, gasping at the intensity with which he returned her kiss, and the couple allowed their bodies to express their love and commitment.

When finally they pulled away from each other, Sansa rested her forehead against his beard and inhaled Sandor’s masculine scent. “Come back for me tomorrow during the second quarter of the sun,” she panted out her words softly. “Promise me.”

“You bloody well know I will, little bird,” Sandor rasped out. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Sadly Sansa nodded as she donned her sealskin. “Lift me into the water.”

Swiftly he caught her up in his arms and then settled her into the waves. “Until tomorrow, love.” Sansa whispered.

“Until tomorrow.” Sandor called out before reluctantly turning away.


	14. Chapter 14

Upon arriving at Winterfell, Sansa and Arya saw the great hall was overflowing with people. Sansa helped Lady Catelyn receive the prayers and condolences of the many guests while Arya went to bathe and ready herself for the commitment ceremony in which Lord Eddard’s body would be entrusted to the sea.

When they finished, Lord Varys met in counsel with Maester Luwin and Lady Catelyn while Sansa and her siblings prepared their father’s body for his return to the old gods of the kelp forest.  His spirit was now one with the first titans, a thought which comforted Sansa, leading her to wonder if her father was now listening to her prayers. If anyone could help her understand her dreams, it was her father, and perhaps now that he was immortal, he would provide the answers for which Sansa so desperately searched.

Her disturbing dreams continued to haunt her waking hours as well as her sleep, and so Sansa fought off her fatigue as long as possible. Without Sandor’s warm, imposing body surrounding her, the young selkie feared falling asleep, though Maester Luwin ordered her to her chambers at midday. Squeezing her eyes closed, she tried to imagine Sandor beside her, with his strong arms around her waist and his large hands spanning her stomach. It never failed to amaze Sansa that a man as large and muscular as her Sandor was also capable of such tenderness.

Surely spending a lifetime with him would bring her joy, though she regretted her father had not lived to see his greatchildren. Memories of seeing her father in the tank crept into her pleasant reverie, and all at once the tears she had been holding in came rushing forth. Distraught, Sansa prayed and cried until eventually the young selkie fell into a dreamless sleep.

At sunset, Jory awakened her to join the family.  “How is it living among the land dwellers?” He asked quietly as she walked beside him.

“It is wonderful though nothing like home.” Sansa sighed softly, her thoughts drifting to Sandor once more. She wished he was with her now. “Have you never been?”

“Oh I have been. I served your father when he fought with the king on land.”

“Oh, yes?” Sansa asked politely. “I did not plan on returning under such dire circumstances, though; Jory, it was so horrible, you cannot imagine.”

“I can imagine, believe me child. Your brother can too. He means to make war with the humans.”

Sansa snapped her head to face him. “How can he do such a thing?”

“We have means at our disposal, both on land and at sea. The first titans hear our prayers and can bring fierce storms to batter the castle.”

Frozen, Sansa stared into his eyes. “Truly? Oh, please, tell me more.”

He shook his head.  “It is nothing for a female to worry over.”

“Jory you must tell me,” Sansa took hold of him. “If Robb makes war on the humans, it may hurt San-dor. He has done nothing wrong, nor have the rest of the humans to deserve such a terrible fate. Only the prince is responsible. I will speak to Robb and Mother at once.”

Jory’s eyes glittered as he regarded her. “Now that you have spent time with this San-dor, do you truly believe the old gods have bonded you with the human?”

Sansa earnestly replied, “Yes, I do.”

“You mean to join with him, why don’t you just admit it?” Jory stopped, glaring at her. “You mean to leave your family and friends for him.”

“I admit to my wish to join with him. I am not ashamed to say so, either,” Sansa jutted her chin at him before deciding to try another approach. “San-dor will be at risk if you make these entreaties to the titans, and I will be at risk as well, for I will be on land, in human form.”

Jory shrugged. “That is your choice.”

“San-dor has not asked me to abandon my family as we have always been taught about humans. I am free to come and go at my leisure. This will cause us both great suffering.”

Snorting, Jory shook his head. “So that’s what he tells you-that you are free? Well, I fear it will be different now.”

Anger and fear suddenly took hold of her. “How so?”

“Well, you have to admit, it is in his best interest for your father to be out of the way once you are joined. That human you care so much about guards the prince: how do you know this San-dor person isn’t the one who put the prince up to killing your father?”

Shaking, Sansa jerked away from him. “The bond lets me know his true nature. Through it, I feel his emotions echo in my own heart and I sense his mood as well. While San-dor is certainly fierce in battle, I know in my heart that he is incapable of cruelty towards me or my kin!”

“Or perhaps you are blinded by desire for him.”

“How dare you even speak such words to me?!” Sansa recoiled angrily. “If my father were alive, he-“

“What is this?” Lord Varys interrupted. “Cassel, what have you done to upset Lady Sansa?”

“My lord, I merely questioned how she could be certain that San-dor did not arrange for Lord Eddard’s death.”

“This is hardly the appropriate time to bring it up. And what did she say?” Varys glanced toward Sansa.

“She said that through the bond, she senses his true nature.” Jory reluctantly answered.

“It is the truth, I assure you, for I sense it in him as well.” Lord Varys then dismissed Jory with a wave of his hand. “Come, my dear, let us have a talk while we make our way to the burial ceremony.”

Gently he moved her into an alcove. “My lady, you must not fear Jory’s words. He is merely hurt.”

“Is it true what he says about humans?”

Varys sighed. “Though your father and mother do not hold to such prejudices, many selkie and mer people are highly suspicious of humans at best and downright bigoted at the very worst. You and Sandor will have great difficulty among the peoples once you are joined. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Yes.” Sansa recalled the whispered comments about humans, though admittedly in nearly all matters, most mers and selkies alike kept their opinions to themselves around the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark.

If not for her high born standing, she could be outcast, refused entry to her underwater home, even disinherited, but Sansa was certain her brother Robb would never resort to that. “But Lord Varys, surely the lords will not force my brother into casting me out because of San-dor.”

“Your brother means to make war and claim kingship in order to unite the selkie and mer peoples, my lady. Kings do many things of which the men they once were would have never dreamed. You must prepare yourself.”

Shakily Sansa nodded. Though she could hardly imagine a worse fate, Sansa could no more abandon Sandor than she could give up air; what would she do if Robb decided to force her hand? Silently she prayed to her father for guidance as they dove into the red kelp forest.

Maester Luwin stood in front of the immense heart kelp, its white and red fronds dancing lazily with the lapping of the water. In front of him, Sansa saw her mother, ever the dignified lady, holding her feelings close to her heart while focusing on comforting her children. Though Robb and Arya were ready for revenge and had talked nothing but fighting the humans (though Arya conceded Sandor was different)  since she arrived, they kept their thoughts to themselves as Sansa drew near.

Each family member presented their offering before the great kelp and then committed his body to the forest. When at last the ceremony was over, the family clung to one another for solace. Silently Sansa slipped beside her mother, wrapping her in a close embrace.

Afterward, Sansa helped her family receive the consoling words of their guests. Many people had likely already heard she had been bonded to a human and glared at her throughout the ceremony, though Sansa ignored them. She was Winterfell’s daughter and had no need to explain herself to them, she told herself.

As she met her father’s bannermen,  Lord Varys warnings resounded in her mind, but nothing he said had prepared Sansa for the litany of slurs that awaited her.

“How can you join yourself to such an awful race of creatures?” Lord Bolton hissed at her. “When you could have had my son Ramsay here for the taking.”

 _You would offer the bastard to whom you won’t even give your surname,_ Sansa fumed silently. _And for that I should be grateful._ Remembering her courtesies, she bit her tongue and icily replied, “I appreciate your honorable offer, Lord Bolton, but I am bonded with Sandor Clegane. It is a gift from the old gods of the kelp forest.”

Lord Bolton remained silent, but something in the way Ramsay’s pale eyes glistened as his father spoke sent an involuntary shiver through Sansa. Even if Sandor had not been her bonded mate, she would have never willingly joined with him.

“Lady Catelyn’s daughter,” Lord Frey clicked his tongue at her, “and to think you would rather be with a human than one of your own kind.”

“He helped us bring father home! It is not for anyone to reproach Sansa for whom she will join; that decision is for her alone!” Arya vehemently shouted. “It is the old gods of the kelp forests that gives the females the right to choose her mate, and such has been the way of our people since the first titans. Besides, she is bonded to San-dor; I have seen it for myself.”

“As have I,” Lord Varys offered authoritatively. Most of the assembled guests recognized his uncanny abilities, and so Sansa was relieved that he spoke up. “You must not doubt the old gods’ gift.”

A collective gasp went up among the throng, causing Sansa to finally turn and address them all. “I neither need nor require anyone’s approval, just as my sister has stated.  Humans are creatures of the gods as well, made in their image, just as we are.” Sansa firmly announced, daring anyone in the assembly to challenge her. “I will wed San-dor Clegane.”

Catelyn took hold of her arm. “Truly, child-even after all that has happened?”

“Yes, Mother,” Sansa tearfully held her hands. “The gods have given us a mysterious, beautiful gift for a purpose and I mean to explore it.”

“I do not claim to understand the mystical connections of your father’s family but neither do I deny them. Do what you must, Sansa, with my blessing.”

“But Mother-“ Robb interjected.

“Not now, son.” Lady Catelyn murmured, her determined tone silencing the young selkie at once.

Later, Sansa revealed to Maester Luwin and the rest of her family the substance of her dreams. “Please, help me. I do not understand.”

The old master patted her gently. “Lord Varys has been experiencing the same. I fear it is the future the two of you are glimpsing, though not a very promising one at that.”

Robb glared at her, shaking his head as he did so. Fidgeting, Sansa averted her eyes sadly. “Where is the castle I see in my dreams?”

“It is not here,” Maester Luwin closed his eyes and placed his hands on her face; after offering a prayer, he answered, “King’s Landing, mayhap. It’s been many years since I ventured there but it feels as though you are describing the Red Keep.”

“Yes, it is the Red Keep,” Lord Varys confirmed. “I have lived there many years, and it is exactly as the lady describes.”

Sansa shivered, remembering Ser Jaime telling Sandor that he would leave for King’s Landing with the young prince and the king after their hunting trip.

“You both must return to land at once,” Maester Luwin solemnly announced. “I sense the matter is urgent. Follow the will of the old gods; they will direct you.”

Sansa had meant to go back to Sandor quickly, but when she had agreed to meet him on the morrow, she intended on telling him that she wanted to extend her stay at Winterfell. “So soon? But Mother needs me, I-“

“We will manage, Sansa,” Lady Catelyn interrupted. “You must follow this path, child. It is the will of the gods that you return at once.”

“But-but what if it takes me away from you?” Sansa tearfully asked, her lips quivering so hard she could barely get out the words.

“I will be able to see you in the kelp godswood, sister,” Bran took her by the hand. “I have the gift. When I place my hands on the giant kelp, I have seen your dreams. Just call to me, and I will hear you.”

“Thank you brother,” Sansa kissed him tenderly. “I will go back to land tomorrow.”

Jon glanced between her and Robb. “I will come to you in a sennight, Sansa, on the directives of Robb and your mother. Make ready for me, sister.”

“Of course,” Sansa dutifully replied, wondering why Robb, now the Lord of Winterfell and ready to go to war with humans, would dispatch Jon to land. “San-dor has plenty of room for you, and should be most happy to have you join us.”  _Robb cannot face me with his decision. He means to disinherit me but he needs to convince Mother._  With that Sansa took her leave, the young selkie barely able to restrain tears until she entered her quarters.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of my fanfics featuring Jaime Lannister will stick to his CANON characterization so there is no need to worry when reading my stories. If ever I feature violence towards women (which is rare for me) I always place an asterisk beside the paragraph and a warning at the beginning of the story. If you ever feel anything needs tagging, please let me know. Your comfort comes FIRST.

As soon as Sandor returned to dry land, a gnawing emptiness clawed at his gut, fueling his rage towards Joffrey further still while melding with Sansa’s own heartache. No matter how hard he tried, Sandor could not escape the emptiness in his heart. Needing release, Sandor had gone to the training yard, which was his preferred way of sorting out his troubles.

There he cut down every opponent mercilessly, reserving the most brutal blows for the members of the Kingsguard. Jaime Lannister was not there, much to his surprise, but Sandor would not have cared if he was-it was his shit of a son than started this whole mess. His bloodlust unsated by the exercise, Sandor then proceeded to hack the practice dummies to pieces until Tywin called him off.

Next Sandor went to Baelish’s brothel, where he gambled and drank himself into a stupor. Upon seeing his winnings, Mary tried to coax him into buying her, lifting her shirts and batting her lashes at him in the way that had proven most effective in the past, but Sandor brusquely brushed her aside.  

“Plan on killing yourself while Lady Sansa is away?” The golden lion’s mocking tone rang in his ears as Sandor eased himself into a chair. Tutting, Jaime sat down across from him and helped himself to the wine Mary set before them.

“Fuck off,” Sandor snarled, jerking the flask away from him. “Go find a whore and leave me be.” Jabbing his finger at Mary, he slurred, “This one’s looking for business.”

Averting her eyes, Mary moved toward Bronn, who had just entered the room. The sellsword knew Sandor favored her, and so he eagerly allowed her to sit on his lap. Scowling, Sandor shouted, “She’s all yours, little man.”

Bronn looked ready for a comeback but thought better of it when Sandor rose to his full height. Sighing as he glanced between the men, Jaime shook his head. “Sit down, the both of you.” Once Sandor was seated, he leaned in close, “I know about Varys, Clegane, and I know about Sansa.”

His thoughts muddled, Sandor wasn’t sure what the Lannister lion thought he knew but he sure as hells wasn’t going to offer any information. Hoping he would just go away, Sandor remained silent and drained his flagon.

“If you’d stop being such a stubborn jackass, I could help you.” Jaime fingered a golden stag thoughtfully while waiting for his reply.

When he saw Jaime was in no hurry to leave, Sandor sullenly raised his eyes to him. “And just how do you think you can help me?”

“I know the king means to bring you with him to King’s Landing and in so doing, will effectively remove you from Sansa permanently.”

“Aye, then you can have her for yourself,” he slurred, jerking toward the golden knight. “I seen the way you leer at her. You’re probably the shit who put it in his mind in the first place to send me away.”

“No, it was Joffrey’s,” Jaime carefully answered, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Look, you have held a few secrets of mine and I’m willing to do the same.”

“Bugger off.” Sandor waved him away.

“Listen to me now,” Jaime leaned in. “Do you love her?”

Sandor snorted at drew a long drink. “What do you think?”

“Then marry her. Do it before the king returns. She is a highborn lady and once she’s bedded, fat Robert will have to let her go with you or else risk the ire of the north.”

Wiping his mouth on his shirt, Sandor glared at him. “Don’t I need his royal worship’s permission to wed?”

“No, you belong to Casterly Rock. I’ll give the consent. My father will not contest it, and before anyone can complain the thing will be done.” Jaime grinned mischievously. “What say you?”

Even through his drunken haze Sandor had to admit that was the best option he had going, but would the little bird want to marry him? “Aye,” Sandor finally nodded, “I’ll do it.”

“Good man,” Jaime slapped him hard on the back. “Now get out of here before you do something truly stupid.”

* * *

After the second quarter of the moon, Sandor awoke with the same sinking feeling he carried in his gut when he left Sansa at sea. Wincing at the dying firelight, he groaned loudly and gingerly stretched out on his bed; the copious amounts of Dornish sour Sandor consumed had left his tongue furred and his temples pounding relentlessly.

Sansa was his first thought as his senses slowly returned to him. The man had hoped that upon awaking from his drunken stupor he would find her there and the previous day just a dream. Sandor’s hand groped for her in the darkness, and upon finding only emptiness, the black rage that colored his life before her seeped out of the depths of his soul, souring his already bleak mood.

Experience had taught him not to move too quickly after such indulgence but even his most careful effort proved too much. Turning his head, the contents of his stomach violently lurched forward at the movement, and after he emptied himself into a nearby basin, Sandor decided he would go back to the brothel in search of more wine.

Shades of Sansa’s emotions stopped him cold, however; even from far away, the intensity of her misery echoed in his heart and cast a further shadow of wretchedness over him. Sandor could not bear for his emotions to hurt his little bird, and the thought caused the man to stem the bilious rage boiling up in his gut. His anger would do her no good. Before long he would have to return to the sea and hopefully Sansa would be there, waiting for him. It would not do for her to see him in such a condition. 

Gently Sandor eased himself back into bed and closed his eyes while thinking over the events of the previous day. When Sansa learned of her father’s death, her face took on a haunted expression, and even glancing at her sent a corresponding shiver through Sandor’s body. True to the strong woman she was, Sansa managed to play her role until they reached his quarters.

Though her tight embrace was borne out of desperation, the man could not help but enjoy the feel of her warm softness. Sansa removed her sleeping shift as soon as she climbed into bed (which that in of itself was enough to make sleeping difficult) and paired with her whimpering, Sandor had been unable to rest.

Having never offered comfort to another person, he felt helpless in the wake of her heartache. With Sansa, Sandor not only witnessed her suffering but shared it too, an overwhelming sensation both powerful and yet tender. Some instinct made Sandor hold her close while stroking her naked back and shoulders. Immediately he felt she was comforted; Sansa quieted and soon her body relaxed against him.

For the first time in memory, he made a conscious effort for her sake, willing himself calm down. The idea came that perhaps he would be able to transmit the feeling to her. It was more foolishness than Sandor had ever dared allow himself, but it was worth it for Sansa’s sake. So he decided to offer a quiet prayer, submitting to the so-called old gods as he continued comforting her as she gave free reign to her anguish.

Feeling more a fool than ever before,  Sandor was about to give up when it soon became apparent that Sansa gained the benefit of his efforts, for her breathing slowed and fell heavy against his neck, her weeping subsided, and not long after the little bird finally found peace in sleep.

Sandor held her all through the night, for Sansa had clung to him, her small hands gripping his back for purchase. The bonding made the experience intimate in a way Sandor had never before known, joined in both mind and body as they were, and the sharing of Sansa’s grief was the most powerful encounter of Sandor’s young life.

Stroking her hair, Sandor reveled in the honeyed scent of Sansa’s velvety soft skin, the lushness of her full breasts pressed alluringly against his naked chest, the silken strands of red hair surrounding his body. He committed them all to memory, tucking their last few precious moments together away to savor during the time she returned to her family.

The following morning, a loud clap of thunder rolled in the distance, suddenly awakening Sandor.  His head still pounded, though not so fiercely as before. After taking a cold bath, Sandor dressed while contemplating whether or not Sansa would even be there, and the thought sent a fresh wave of nausea through him.

Delicately he ran his large calloused hands over the soft material of her green gown. If the little bird did return to him, she would need something to wear on land, so he bundled the garment along with stockings and shoes into a duffle and then made for the docks.

It was only natural for her to desire to return to the sea, Sandor thought as he untied the moorings. Ever since they were reunited, he could not imagine his life without her, nor did he want to, and the fear of her leaving overshadowed the happiness Sandor found with her. The look on Sansa’s face when saw her father and sister confirmed his worry but as much as he dreaded the idea of going on without Sansa in his life, Sandor would not hold it against her if she never wanted to return to Casterly Rock.

A woman as beautiful and perfect as Sansa was never meant for the likes of him anyway, of that he was certain. He was just a dog after all, taking what belonged to his betters, and the way people looked at him with Sansa on his arm proved he was not the only man who thought so. But Sandor didn’t care about anyone or anything but Sansa; just having her affection was more good than Sandor ever expected to receive in life, and for that alone he would be forever grateful to who or whatever saw fit to bring them together in the first place. With a heavy heart, Sandor cast off the vessel.

* * *

 At first light Sansa was ready to leave Winterfell. She had said her goodbyes to her family the night before and so had not expected to see them so early, but when she reached the great hall all of them were there, waiting to send her off. Jory stood there as well, a solemn expression clouding his face. Sansa ignored him.

“I cannot bear to leave,” she cried into her mother’s arms. “Not like this.”

“Jon will come to you in a fortnight, Sansa. You must be strong, like your lady mother,” Maester Luwin offered softly while anointing her head and shoulders with holy oils. “You must have faith in the gods, lass.”

Catelyn stroked her hair while the master said the blessing. “He is right, my little lemoncake. Go to Sandor. The gods will help you understand their will for you.”

Nodding obediently, Sansa hugged her family one last time and then made for the surface. The journey to the location where Sandor left her felt markedly shorter than when she swam out to sea with Arya, Varys and her father. Finally his boat appeared in the distance, bringing a great wave of relief over her. Eagerly Sansa swam toward Sandor, all the while calling his name.

The sun shone directly in her face, but Sansa squinted until she was able to make out Sandor’s huge form waving her toward the bow of the vessel. As she swam up beside him, he knelt down and smirked at her. “So you decided to return after all. I half thought you’d stay with your kin.”

“No, San-dor, I cannot bear to live without you.” Sansa earnestly stared up at him, suddenly overwhelmed by the beauty of her bonded mate. “You must feel it in your heart.”

He eyed her suspiciously until Sandor’s mouth curled into a grin, the man unable to hold up the ruse while staring into her beautiful eyes. Kneeling down, he held his arms out to her. “I do, lass. Come, let’s go home.”


	16. Chapter 16

“Bloody hells,” he swore as he tried to lower the anchor. The morning had been uncharacteristically chilly, and so Sandor had put on a thicker but seldom worn tunic. Though he removed the lacings, Sandor’s heavily muscled chest and arms strained against the confines of the garment as he moved about the boat, hindering his range of movement and tearing the material with each effort. Swearing, Sandor ripped the remains off of his upper body just as Sansa’s bright red hair came into view.

Far in the distance, he saw Sansa waving eagerly at him. Seeing her brought a fresh flutter of nerves to his stomach, for Sandor meant to ask her to wed him as soon as may be, just as Jaime suggested. After the agony he suffered while they were apart, Sandor knew he wanted to leave Casterly Rock with Sansa as husband and wife, and the sooner they were wed, the better.

It was more than a means of keeping her with him, however, for in the short time since they were reunited, Sansa managed to burrow into his soul; whether it was from some buggering bond, Sandor did not know, nor did he care. Gradually, the delicate maiden who was once his dearest childhood friend somehow had become part of his very being, and her influence had already brought about subtle changes, positive changes both painful but necessary, within the man.

During their separation Sandor realized he never wanted (nor could he bear) to be parted from her again. Of course, how they proceeded depended upon Sansa’s response to his offer, for Sandor would neither force or beg her to become his wife; and the mere thought of her refusing him brought a wave of anger and uncertainty to the man’s heart.

Suddenly Sansa disappeared from sight. Straining his eyes against the glare of the early morning sun, Sandor scanned the waterline anxiously until she resurfaced along the starboard side of the fishing vessel. Only the top of Sansa’s head and her widened deep blue eyes peeking above the deck were visible as he approached her.

Watching her eyes range over his body, Sandor’s mouth twitched into a sheepish grin as he gently lifted her onto the deck. “Like what you see?” He rasped huskily into her ear as she pulled him into a tight embrace; nodding, Sansa eagerly clung to him and kissed the burned side of his face lovingly.

“I missed you,” Sansa whispered against his beard. The tenderness of the act immediately elicited a surge of emotion within Sandor, while the feel of her lush body pressed against his naked chest immediately aroused the man. “Hmm, me too,” Sandor growled against the curve of her neck.  “Gods but you are a sight for sore eyes.”

Soft and warm and even more beautiful than he remembered, Sandor clung to her in return, the man relishing having her in his arms once again. Lightly his huge hands trailed over her shoulders and then down her back, settling on the indentation of her waist as he admired the smallness of her form.

Sansa returned the gesture, allowing her fingers to trace over the musculature of his back as she hummed softly in his arms. “Is that a good thing?”

“Aye.”  He needed her, gods but he needed her; not just her body, but all of Sansa, mind, heart and soul.  It would be an easy thing, in this moment, to choke down his pride and apprehension and ask her to be his wife. But would Sansa, she who was everything to him, truly want to be his wife?  If it weren’t for the buggering bond, would she even want him at _all_? Or would Sansa fear him as did the rest? He did not want to think of the agony  her saying no would bring to him, but he was determined to ask just the same. Sandor both feared and longed for the answer; still, he needed to be certain before he pledged his troth.

Sansa sensed his anxious mood; he could feel it reflected in her body, in the tension of her arms around him, but still Sansa remained silent while doggedly clinging to him. She fears she will lose me, too, he realized incredulously. Holding her now, Sandor felt the haze of uncertainty slowly dissipate. Nuzzling into her neck, he swallowed down his apprehension. “Gods but you feel good.”

“As do you,” Sansa said quietly as she pulled away. Her eyes fell to his chest admiringly, and she ran her fingers lightly through the hair covering his pectorals. “I beg pardon, San-dor; I seem to have wetted your pelt.”

“Not a pelt, lass; chest hair; and I don’t give seven buggering hells if you get me wet-in fact, I’d prefer it,” he lasciviously drank in her body as he spoke.

Smiling shyly, Sansa blushed deeply and rested her hand over his heart, her eyes serious and sad. “I missed you, San-dor-I needed you.”

 _Needed me? How? What use could he have been to her under the sea?_ Bitter bile welled up in his throat, for Sansa’s words were unpleasantly familiar to Sandor. As an adult, the man had never known what it was to be loved and cared for by a woman, and Sandor only had his past experiences to rely on for an explanation as to what Sansa’s words might mean.

She had never been with a man, of that he was certain, but despite her innocence, was it possible the little bird only wanted him for his cock? In the past, many whores, handmaidens and kitchen wenches alike had expressed a similar interest in him, and despite his scarred countenance,  the women never hesitated to make their curiosities known in the most vulgar of terms.

Sandor readily, albeit bitterly, obliged them: not matter the reason, he was not about to turn down an easy fuck. He had taken them hard and fast and left them panting, sore and unsatisfied, never offering a kind word, only barking at them to leave his bed so he could drink away the inevitable self-loathing that followed such encounters.

With Sansa, everything had been different; she was all gentle touches, soft looks and tender kisses without the sexual advances, and yet Sandor still could not help but wonder about her true intentions.  He was loathe to know the best way to get her to clarify her want; frowning, Sandor resorted to his usual blunt ways. Tipping her chin up to him, Sandor stared into her eyes. “Needed me _how_?”

Her face reddened but she did not avert her gaze. Unexpectedly, Sansa’s eyes filled with tears as she started to speak. “I needed you beside me when I returned to Winterfell…I needed you at my father’s commitment ceremony. I needed your strength and your affection, your-”

Her words made him glad he held his tongue. Unable to control his emotions, Sandor buried his face in her wet hair, nuzzling the soft skin below her ear before reluctantly pulling away to face her once more. “Aye lass, I know.”

“You know-how?” Sansa stared up at him, at once curious and hopeful. “Did you feel my need? I prayed for you, begged the old gods to give me some of your strength and courage!” Gently she caressed both sides of his face as she spoke.

Sandor reluctantly nodded. “I felt it, aye; a deep ache that I couldn’t shake. I didn’t know what it was, though.” Sansa softly began to sob. Pulling her against his chest, Sandor let his hands wander further down over her perfectly round backside and then began rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs over each of her hips. “Shh lass, I’ve got you now.”

“Oh Sandor-my sealskin,” she hiccupped and gestured back to the water. “Please, San-dor.”

Despite her pleading for him to retrieve it, she would not let go of him. “Turn loose of me, girl, until I get it for you.”

Pouting, Sansa reluctantly let go of him. Lowering the fishing net, he carefully maneuvered the material under the sealskin and transferred it into the hull.

While Sandor worked, Sansa disappeared into the cabin. Before long, her soft lilting voice accompanied the sound of splashing water. _She’s bathing; bloody hells; probably means to dress as well._ Despite his inexperience with the fairer sex, Sandor recognized Sansa was quite flustered being held by him while fully nude, which, considering he had both see and held her while she was naked in the past, surprised him to no end.  He did not claim to be an expert on women, however, and so he let her be.

Clearing his throat pointedly, Sandor tried to distract himself by rinsing off the sealskin. After what felt like an eternity to the man, Sansa shyly emerged with her beautiful creamy skin draped in the remnants of his torn tunic. “I-I could find no other garment to put on,” she offered self-consciously, her cheeks blushing deeply under his heated gaze. “Is this acceptable?”

Sandor’s thoughts grew more lustful as he regarded her, the memory of her nude body filling in what little the thin material concealed of her: her delectable rounded breasts, her pink nipples hardening each time the cool sea breeze brushed against them, the pretty thatch of red curls covering her woman’s place all came rushing back to him. Staring at her blushing before him now, Sandor could think of far more pleasurable ways to make her redden, and before long, he was hard as stone and aching for release.

Sansa swallowed hard and offered him another vivid smile, though the manner in which she nervously shifted on her feet gave away her obvious unease. “Is something the matter, San-dor?” She finally asked. “Please, tell me truly.”

Several minutes passed before Sandor realized he still had not answered her, but rather still staring at her with his mouth agape. “No, nothing is the matter, Sansa,” Sandor sighed irritably, swallowing down his frustration. “I laid out a gown for you on the bunk. You best dress before you catch chill in this cold weather. Never seen the weather so blustery at this time of year.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” She stared out at the horizon. “Winter is coming.” Chewing her lip slightly, Sansa bashfully averted her eyes. “Forgive me, but what is a bunk?”

“It’s that thing resembling a fishing net tied between two poles; it’s for sleeping,” he waved his hand toward the cabin. “On land we call it a cot.”

“Oh, I see; thank you.” She smiled sweetly before turning toward the cabin. When she returned to the deck, Sansa had on the deep emerald gown Sandor had chosen for her, the color emphasizing her fiery hair and pale skin in the morning sun.

“Is everything alright?” Sansa softly asked, placing her hand on his broad shoulder, causing Sandor to jump. “You seem most agitated.”

Sighing, Sandor settled down on the stroke seat. “I’ve been wondering, that is to say-“ he began awkwardly. How could he tell her that he wanted her to be his wife and yet his greatest fear was that she would leave him permanently rather than agree to his request?

“Yes?” Sansa knitted her brows while pursing her lips together. Wringing her hands, she whispered, “Have you changed your mind about letting me stay with you? Do you-do you know longer want me? Has the burden of the bond made you decide to leave me?” Stifling a sob, her lower lip began to quiver as her eyes filled with tears once more. “Mother said it would be such, since humans are not used to-“

“Bloody hells, no!” Sandor growled out while pounding his fist on the seat beside him. Why couldn’t he just get the fucking question out of his gods forsaken mouth? Instead, he sat silent as a mouse like some bloody coward, and now the little bird thought he meant to throw her over. “Quite the opposite, lass. Sit down a minute, will you?”

“What do you mean?” Sansa rested her hand on his arm as she moved to sit on his knees.

“I-marry me, Sansa. Say you’ll be my wife.” Sandor abruptly stood up turned away from her. Behind him, he heard Sansa gasped softly; not knowing what else to do, Sandor anxiously began tying and untying the rope of the sails. An unbearable silence stretched between them, leading him to angrily add, “Or say no, one, if you don’t want to be mine. Say the word.”

Still Sansa remained silent. Despite his agitation, Sandor could not bring himself to look at her. “Bloody hells, woman, just give me your answer and be done with it.”

Suddenly soft hands enveloped his own. “Yes,” he heard her whisper as she pressed her lips against each of his hands tenderly, “yes, I would love to be your wife. I will wed you as soon as you wish.”


	17. Chapter 17

Smiling softly, Sansa placed her hand over his heart. His body relaxed, though Sandor’s heartbeat quickened beneath her fingertips. Gently she traced circles over his muscular chest, delighting in the feel of his warm, sun kissed skin. “I love you. I want to be your wife, Sandor,” Sansa lifted her other hand and turned his face to meet her gaze, “but you must make efforts to trust me. I know that this is not an easy thing for you but for the sake of our union, you must promise to try.”

Affronted, Sandor jerked away from her. “What do you know of it, woman?” He growled harshly. Taken aback by his display of anger, Sansa nevertheless tightened her hold on him, the young selkie determined and emboldened by her desire to reach his heart. “Tell me, then, Sandor and I will try to understand.”

The burned side of his face twitched several times before Sandor turned toward Sansa once more. Lacing his fingers through her own, he rasped low, “I’m not used to having someone view me as you do. No one looks me in the face-women especially. Usually they only want one thing.”

Saddened, Sansa bit her lip to hold her tears at bay. Her beloved Sandor had been used ill by women and men alike, leaving his heart scarred far more deeply than Gregor’s fire left his face.  “I am sorry you have been used so ill. Ignorance is blinding, my love,” she allowed the endearment she often used in her mind to slip out. Despite his visible irritation, Sandor remained quiet as she whispered, “And a worse affliction than any physical infirmity, for both humans and selkies.”

“Aye.” Eyes gleaming, Sandor sharply turned to her, gripping her jaw in between his fingers. “Faced it at home too, did you? On account of me?” Bitterly he stared into her eyes, his gaze softening as he did so, though his words and tone remained harsh, unyielding. “Too ugly for a pretty lass like you, is that the way of it? Too brutal, not refined like those comely boys waiting for you below the waves?”

Wordlessly Sansa stiffened under his touch as she fought back tears. Laughing cruelly, Sandor suddenly turned loose of her. “They have the right of it. I’ve no business with you, lass, believe that.”

 _This is all going so very wrong._ Wringing her hands, Sansa shook her head. “No, you must not say such things! I won’t hear it.”

“I’m a killer. All men are meat, and I’m the butcher.” Sandor settled her back in the seat. “Admit it, I frighten you.”

“No, Sandor, please, I have never feared you-you are my beloved, my-“

“Take a good look at me, Sansa,” Sandor pulled her close to his face while pointing at the scarred side of his face. A piece of bone near his mouth glinted in the sunlight but though she was horrified, Sansa refused to turn away. “High time you see me for what I am, little bird, and not this fucking knight in shining armor from your dreams. Did you say yes to _me_ or to this bloody ideal you’ve made up in your pretty little head?”

A deep sadness coiled in Sansa’s belly, his speech and demeanor sending an involuntary shiver through her body. _He has kept his anger inside for so long; somehow my declaration has unleashed it. As painful as it is for both of us, I must allow him to give voice to it-it is the only way we will be able to move past it._ Silently she prayed to the old gods to give her the right words to make him feel her love.

“It is not that I view you through some sort of girlish fairytale ideal, Sandor; it is that I see you for who you are-the man you are on the inside-not the scars, not as the fearsome sworn shield of the prince. I see Sandor Clegane, not the Hound.”

Averting his gaze, Sandor snorted and ran his hands through his hair. Undeterred, it was Sansa’s turn to grip his chin; hastily moving toward him, the young woman determinedly stared deep into his eyes, so full of anger, as she held his chin, all the while willing herself not to shrink back from the intensity of his gaze.

“You do me a great injustice, claiming I neither know nor love the man you are within, Sandor Clegane. I have loved you since we were children, and long before you became the Hound of the Lannisters. Say what you will, but I will love you until I die and then from the afterlife as well.”

A choking sound came from Sandor’s throat and encumbered his words; before Sandor could speak, Sansa continued, removing her grip on his face and taking his hands in hers once more. “But Sandor, you must learn to give me the benefit of your good opinion in return or I fear that our love will die, no matter the bond. You must have faith in me, as I have in you, if we are to be wed.”

A long silence followed her little outburst. Her mother would have scolded her for such behavior, especially toward her bonded mate,  but Sansa no longer cared; all that mattered was that she makes Sandor understand that she loved him for true. Watching him closely, Sansa remained quiet, allowing her betrothed to digest all that she had said.

“Aye, little bird,” Sandor eventually gently drew her close to his chest. “I ought not to have questioned your troth. You’ve given me no reason to doubt your word. I’ll do better by you, you have my word. A hard man I am, though, and make no mistake; you’ll have your hands full with me.”

The pain in Sandor’s voice cut straight through Sansa as he spoke. “Then let us speak no more of it. We both have suffered plenty in our lives but we will put it behind us. We will make our own happiness Sandor, I know we will.”

He snorted at that, but Sansa ignored him. “I have a gift for you,” she tugged at her seal skin. “It is very precious and the only thing of value in my possession.”

Sandor’s eyes widened, deepening to the color of the sky before a storm as he regarded her. “No lass, this is too much-you mustn’t-“

“I _want_ to,” Sansa rested her hand on his arm. “As a symbol of my love and trust, I give you my sealskin.”

“But…” he stammered, clearly distressed by her offering. “What if you wish to return to your family-“

Sansa frowned at him.

“Not that you would…that is to say…” Sandor coughed pointedly. “I meant for a visit.”

“Then I will ask you for it.” Sansa gently caressed his face. “Selkie or human, you are the most honest person I have ever known, Sandor. When I first came to you, you told me I could have it whenever I wished. I trust it is mine for the asking, my love.” She rose up on her toes and tenderly kissed the burned side of his face, then lovingly rubbed her cheek against his beard.

Sighing deeply, Sandor pulled her closer to him, burying his face in her hair and comforted by his embrace, Sansa continued to caress his face and chest. Though clearly intoxicated by her touch, Sandor stubbornly shook his head as if to pull himself out from under her spell. “No, Sansa, no; it is too much. And for what? The sake of my bloody foolishness-“

Sansa firmly shook her head. “Sandor, it is for the sake of our future life together. You have known only pain, betrayal and misery from your family since your dear sister was killed. Let me be the first to give you love and trust, Sandor, please.”

Without a word, Sandor clung to her, his chest heaving as he did so. His tears fell silent, wetting her hair, but Sansa did not mind. Wishing to reassure her, Sandor rubbed soothing circles over her back and Sansa, discerning his intention, snuggled closer to him.

After several long moments, she heard him say, “You’ll not call me San-dor anymore?” His voice was teasing now.

“When I told her of my intention to return to you, Mother said it was important to say the name of my bonded mate correctly.” Sansa blushed in his arms. “I have been practicing so as to please you.”

“ _You_ please me greatly, lass; nothing else matters.” Sandor rasped quietly.

Gazing toward the shore, she saw their small fishing vessel was fast approaching the docks.  Above them towered Casterly Rock, agleam in the morning sun. “When can we wed?” Sansa whispered against his skin.

“As soon as you wish.” Sandor rested his chin against her forehead.

“Upon our arrival, we shall wed; that is my wish.” Sansa kissed him soundly. “We will make our offering first and then say the vows.”

Pulling away, Sandor quirked his eyebrow at her. “What offering?”

“The gift of the flesh,” Sansa shyly answered before she began wringing her hands at his puzzled expression. “Do humans  not have such a thing before the vows?”

Sandor tilted her face up to him. “Not sure. What is this gift?”

“It is when a betrothed couple, um, loves each other for the first time,” Sansa whispered while burying her face in his chest. “Doing so makes their commitment to each other known before the gods and bonds them forever.”

Chuckling,  Sandor answered huskily, “Aye, we have something similar, though we usually have it after the formal ceremony. But make no mistake, before works for me, little bird.” His eyes darkened with lust as he allowed his fingers to trace the curve of Sansa’s cheek. “I’ll not deny your customs, lass, especially not one that works in my favor. “

His touch made Sansa feel lightheaded; sighing, she leaned into his touch. Sandor chuckled as her cheeks reddened further. “As soon as we return to my place, then, we will make this offering and then I’ll take you to the sept. What say you?”

Blushing heatedly, Sansa could only nod and smile at him. After he anchored the vessel, Sandor whisked both Sansa and her sealskin away in his arms.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is explicit, so you've been warned. ;)

The crowd hemmed them in as Sansa and Sandor stepped off the boarding ramp. As her legs were somewhat weak, Sandor cleared a path for her. Still she struggled and so Sandor lifted her into his arms. Many passersby muttered at the impropriety of the act, much to Sansa's embarrassment. Enraged, Sandor turned to face the crowd.

“Bugger your bloody propriety and bugger you, too!” He snarled menacingly to anyone within earshot. The crowd soon parted and before long the people didn't so much as glance their direction as they made their way toward the castle. Shyly, Sansa whispered her declarations of love into Sandor’s ear and buried her face into his neck as he carried her home. It went totally against his nature, to allow such endearments in public, but now that he had the little bird-soon to be his _wife_ -in his arms, Sandor couldn't care less what anyone thought of them. When they arrived at his residence, Sandor suddenly turned serious. He opened the door to the villa and led Sansa by the hand into the bedroom.

Timidly Sansa bit her lip and blushed deeply as she glanced toward the bed, her nervous attitude casting a shadow of doubt over the man. Sandor cupped her chin with his fingers, tipping her face up to his as he did so. “You sure this is what you want? I won't make you do anything you aren't comfortable with, understand?”

“Yes, I understand, but I do want you, very much.” Her eyes shone brightly and she smiled at him in a way that said she wanted this as much as he did. With that last confirmation from her, Sandor led her toward the bed. “I have wanted you for so long, Sansa.” His voice was thick with arousal. “As my woman and my wife.”

Sansa giggled softly and allowed him to remove her shoes and stockings, unhooking the silky material from her smallclothes with a delicacy surprising in such a large man. Gently he rubbed the inside of her creamy thighs, squeezing her there before he unhurriedly removed the remainder of her garments. Sansa trembled slightly under his touch, her maidenly shyness stirring his desire all the more, but Sandor was determined that he would take his time with her.

When he finished, Sandor tenderly held her face and bent to kiss her lightly on the mouth. “I’m not going to hurt you, lass; no need to fret.”  Murmuring softly, Sansa opened her mouth to him while running her fingers through his hair. "I know love; I trust you."

Sandor pulled her tighter against his bare chest and kissed her deeply in response, then began nuzzling into her neck. Giggling, she squirmed away. “Ticklish, are you?” He rasped into her ear, his warm breath sending a shiver through Sansa.

Nodding, she sighed softly against his skin and pulled him down to her lips once more. Sandor cradled her head in the crook of his arm as he deepened the kiss further, sipping at her lips until she whimpered softly. “I want you, my love. I am ready; please do not hold back.”

With a wicked grin, Sandor pulled slightly away from her and gazed hungrily at her body. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if she would mind him brazenly removing her clothing. Blushing, Sansa answered the question for him by uninhibitedly shedding her gown and climbing onto the bed, beckoning him to join her. Swiftly Sandor kicked off his breeches and boots and then lay down beside her.

Curiously Sansa stared at his body, admiring his large, heavily defined build. Delicately she began mapping each detail of his body with her fingers, over his collarbone and across his shoulders, then over his pectoral muscles. Moving behind him, she then traced the musculature of his back and ran her hands over his buttocks, squeezing them lightly as she moved to face him once more.

Leisurely he nibbled on her neck and then slipped the straps of her lace shift and descended upon her breasts. Humming softly, Sansa pressed into his touch, grasping his hair in both hands as he exposed her further, laying her back on the bed. “The Maiden made flesh you are.” He breathed against her skin when he finally came up for air, struggling to calm himself.

“Everything about you feels so good,” Sansa sighed once more. “And more than just the physical pleasures. I feel you in my heart.”

It was true; each touch, each taste of her elicited a deeper connection, truly giving Sandor feeling of being one in heart as well as body with his beloved Sansa. It was an entirely new, different emotional response and nearly took his breath away, the intensity of their intimacy, and Sandor savored every moment of it. Kissing his way down the smooth plane of her belly, Sandor held her gaze and pulled at the ribbons of her smallclothes. Nodding slightly, Sansa lifted her hips and then kicked them free, exposing her most intimate place to him.

At first she squeezed her thighs together tightly, but soon her shyness gave way to daring, and Sansa allowed her legs to fall open, giving Sandor a perfect view of her woman’s place. Lying nestled in a thatch of red curls, she was swollen and glistening for him, the sight filling him with a passionate hunger, and it was all Sandor could do not to thrust into her right then. _Slow and steady,_ he repeated to himself as his lips made their way down her body. “You’ve never been with a man…” Sandor rasped quietly against the smooth skin of her inner thigh.

“No, I have never mated; you know that,” Sansa shook her head, her voice breathless with desire. “Why? What is it?”

“I need to make you ready for me, lass,” Sandor answered and then lifted her legs over his shoulders. “You being a maiden, it might hurt a bit otherwise.” Though he had never been with a maiden, he had heard the men in the brothels say as much, and Sandor was determined to make Sansa's first time as good as possible.

“What do you mean to-“ Gasping Sansa’s eyes widened when she realized what he intended. Sandor winked at her before running his tongue over the length of Sansa’s slit, earning a sharp gasp that melted into a low moan as he circled the hardened nub at her apex.

“Oh…oh!” Sandor heard her cry out as he feasted on her, swirling his tongue over her woman’s place and then shallowly dipping two fingers into her slit. Moaning loudly, Sansa’s skin flushed red down to her stomach under the feel of his tongue and hands, and the young woman uninhibitedly began arching into him with each thrust in response, clinging to his back with all her might.

Surprisingly, he didn’t feel any resistance, and so  Sandor began moving them inside her in an even rhythm. Panting, she writhed into his hand, all the while crying out his name and supplicating the gods, soaking him and the bed linens with her arousal.

Gripping the sheets beneath her, Sansa’s thighs began to quiver before she arched her back deeply, lifting her hips off of the mattress and her breath hitched sharply, her muscles tightening around his fingers as she found her pleasure with a loud cry. Removing his fingers, Sandor continued licking her, carefully drinking up every last bit of her sweet wetness while she rode out her peak.

Flushed with desire, Sansa was a goddess in his arms; Sandor knew he would never tire of tasting her. He could spend all night pleasuring her in this way, Sandor thought, though his cocked begged for release. When her breathing returned to normal, Sandor moved beside her; Sansa shyly curled up against his chest. “It was so very beautiful Sandor.” She whispered, running her fingers through the hair on his chest. “What-what was that called?”

“You came, lass, and it was delicious,” Sandor grinned at her, licking his lips. “You taste so sweet, I could feast on you all night.”

Blushing, she smiled up at him until her eyes trail down to his hardened manhood. “But what about you?”  Sansa whispered as she curled her slender fingers around his length. He groaned loudly at the feel of her cool hands around his cock; and unable to control himself, he began thrusting into her grip. Instinctively she tightened her hold, eliciting a deep moan from him, and cupped his testicles with her other hand, the exquisite feel nearly bringing his release. After several moments of stroking him, Sansa added, “You appear to be…unsatisfied, Sandor; let me pleasure you as you did me.” In a daze, Sandor tried to shake his head in protest. Suddenly she leaned down and tentatively licked away the moisture pearling on the head of his penis. “I can do what you did to pleasure me; let me try.”

“Oh gods woman,” Sandor cursed softly and gripped the base of his penis, desperately fighting the urge to thrust into her mouth as she wrapped her lips around the head. Gently she kissed and licked his manhood, inexpertly running her tongue over the tip and then taking as much of him into her mouth as she could. Overwhelmed by the feel of her wet lush mouth on him, Sandor reveled in her ministrations until abruptly he pulled away, crying out his sudden release and spurting his warm seed over her belly and thighs.

If Sansa was scandalized by his behavior, she did not show any signs of disapproval. Sleepily Sansa smiled up at him as he sheepishly wiped her belly. “Forgive me, lass, I got carried away.”  Shaken by the force of his peak, Sandor then gathered her into his arms and brushed the strands of hair from her face. “I didn’t mean to do that on you.”

“Isn't that what is supposed to happen?” Sansa quietly asked, tucking the sheets around her modestly, amusing Sandor with her ladylike ways after she just sucked his cock and let him come all over her without so much as batting an eye.

“Aye but not so quickly,” Sandor chuckled then turned her over, nuzzling into her hair before slowly kissing down her spine, flicking his tongue over her skin. “And I’m not finished with you yet.” He kissed down her rounded bottom, over the deep curve of her thighs and dipped into the back of her knees before turning her over. “I mean to have you-all of you. I’m going to make you come with me inside of you.” Sandor rasped huskily into her ear.

Moaning wantonly, Sansa arched her back into his touch, and unable to resist, Sandor dipped his tongue in between her legs once again, the man thrilling to find her wet and willing for him once more. The sight of Sansa lying open before him with her woman’s place sheening with arousal, her lips and nipples swollen from kissing and her chest flushed red above him, unleashed his passion for her once more.

His cocked throbbed with need, begging to enter her, but Sandor took his time and kissed up her belly, in between her breasts, sucking gently on her nipples until he was unable to hold back any longer. Carefully he rolled her over on top of him so that Sansa straddled his lap. She looked down at him, confusion spreading over her lovely face. “I want you to ride me, Sansa,” he explained, his voice harsh with need. “As hard or as slow as you wish. You set the pace.”

“Yes, I want that too.” Sansa half moaned, half sighed as she adjusted her position over him.  Reaching between them, Sandor brought the head of his cock to her slit, rubbing it over her opening to find her ready for him once again.

Languidly Sansa undulated her hips, sliding his member in and out of her and running his length over her swollen clit as she did so. Panting, Sandor caressed her breasts, whimpering softly as he then ran his hands down her back, to the small of her waist and over her soft thighs.

Her movements grew more uneven as uncertainty gave way to pleasure; Sansa’s thrusts began drawing him deeper into her body and she tossed her head from side to side, the young woman losing all inhibition while Sandor gripped her thighs and guided her hips, grinding her down over his manhood. Staring up at her, Sandor could not believe this beautiful creature truly wanted to be his wife; he could not tear his eyes away from Sansa’s flushed porcelain skin, the way her full lips parted with each moan, the lushness of her bare body rhythmically dancing above him, her breasts swaying enticingly with each thrust as she moved.

Moaning loudly, Sansa smiled at him and bit her lip, then spread her thighs wider and rocked her body harder against him, bending her back into a deep curve as she moved in time with his slow thrusts. The sight of his cock moving in and out of Sansa’s cunt, swollen with desire, sent a powerful surge of lust through Sandor unlike any feeling he had ever known.

Soon Sansa’s movements became faster and more erratic; she laced her fingers through his for balance and continued thrusting against him, their bodies moving as one. She met and held his gaze as she continued loving him, until Sandor felt the powerful contraction of her release seize his member in exquisite pleasure, and he continued to move inside her faster and faster until he could not hold back any longer.

Rolling on top of her, Sandor pinned her hands over her head while heatedly pumping into Sansa’s body, crying out with abandon when her tight wetness gripped him further still. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around his waist and tightened her inner muscles with each thrust.  Sansa suddenly cried out as her release washed over her yet again; Sandor roared out his own peak, trembling and emptying himself into her, the powerful release so utterly complete that Sandor sobbed in relief. He clung to her desperately, unwilling to remove himself from her, allowing his body to soften inside her instead while Sansa whispered words of love into his ear and stroked his hair tenderly.

Tremulously Sandor finally rolled onto his side and drew her into his arms. Sansa rubbed her hands in rhythmic circles over his chest and snuggled against him. “I love you, Sandor. I am ready to say my vows when you are.”

“In a bit. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Sandor twisted a lock of her hair between his fingers thoughtfully as he stared down at her. Sansa looked disheveled, flushed and,  Sandor decided with a measure of pride, thoroughly and properly fucked.

“No, dearest.” Sansa sat up suddenly, concern etching her lovely face. “Did I hurt _you_? I was rather carried away and you said to ride you as I wished-are you in pain?”

Sandor barked out a harsh laugh. “No, lass, hush with that. Sleep now.” Smiling, Sansa snuggled down against him once more, sighing contentedly.

“I love you little bird,” Sandor whispered into her hair. “I always have. I always will.” He thought she was asleep  when he spoke, but to his surprise she sat up and tenderly regarded him.

“As I love you, Sandor,” she kissed him passionately while holding his face in her hands. They stayed that way, embracing and exploring each other for how long Sandor did not know, nor did he care, so wrapped up was he in the feel of his little bird. The couple rested in pleasurable silence, eventually dozing off to sleep. When the late afternoon sunshine illuminated the bedroom, Sandor roused her from sleep.

“What is it, love?” Sansa sleepily snuggled down closer to him.

“Come, lass, it is time. Let us go say our vows.”


	19. Chapter 19

Carefully covering herself, Sansa rolled over toward him. “You wish us to wed _now_?”

“Aye,” Sandor brushed a stray curl away from her eyes. “That I do. If you’ll still have me.” His solemn tone, paired with a glimmer of uncertainty, cut straight into Sansa’s heart.

“Of course I will wed you. That is why I coupled with you, to demonstrate my commitment to you before the gods. Did you not feel my love when we…when we…” she sniffled and held his hand close to her breast.

“I did lass, I did. Shh, calm yourself,” he pulled her into his arms with an exasperated sigh. “Forgive me; I’m just not accustomed to a woman’s…sensitive nature.” Before Sansa could answer, Sandor kissed her leisurely, tenderly, and when he finally pulled away, she felt flushed and breathless. His body was all hardened contours and powerful muscle beneath Sansa, the warm feel of him so close arousing her once more.

“I know you have suffered, Sandor, but you must have faith in me. I love you.” She held his hand against her breast. “I am ready to be your wife.” Tentatively Sansa rested her cheek against his chest and began running her fingers over the expanse of his abdomen. She heard a choked sound come from his throat, followed by a shuddering sigh.

Methodically Sansa continued stroking him, reveling in the sense of calm it brought to the both of them. Sighing, Sandor shivered under her touch and began rubbing her back in response. “That feels good.”

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it? It is part of the bond, you know; it will undoubtedly be much stronger now that we have mated.”

Sandor smirked at her. “You mean fucked.”

“No, I do not mean that,” she pulled her hand away. “I meant _loved_ -is that better?”

Sandor chuckled and began running both hand over her back and hips in a rhythmic motion. “Call it whatever you like, little bird.”

Smiling shyly, Sansa noticed the familiar ache returning to her woman’s place. Her body was responding to him much more quickly than before, and judging by the smoldering look with which Sandor regarded her, Sansa knew she would have to shift away from him a bit more if they were to make it to the sept.

Gingerly Sansa tucked the sheets around her body and moved to rise from the bed, her cheeks reddening prettily as she did so. Chuckling wickedly, Sandor reluctantly turned loose of her. Never taking his eyes off of her, he then threw back the covers and pulled on his breeches. “Best get ready, lass. The kingslayer is waiting on us.”

“What do we need to do in order to be considered bonded in the eyes of man?” Sansa asked anxiously while fingering the material of the sheet.

“Just bathe and put on a gown you like best.” Sandor bent down and kissed her, then caressed her jawline with his thumb.

“But Sandor, I still need help dressing-“

“I’ll send a maid to help you.” Sandor replied as he gathered his wedded clothes and hurried toward the door. “I’ll see you in a bit.” After a final kiss, he left the room. 

When the handmaiden arrived, Sandor left Sansa alone to her bridal preparations. After much deliberation, she chose the pale yellow gown trimmed in sea pearls that Sandor bought for her. It was made from the prettiest material Sansa had ever seen, and the fact that it was adorned with materials from her home world touched her deeply.

“What do you call this material?” She asked Shae. “It is so very soft and beautiful.”

“It is silk, my lady. The shade would be difficult for most women to wear but it is the perfect complement to your red hair and fair skin.”

“Oh, thank you! It is the prettiest gown has Sandor gifted me.” Sansa beamed, arranging the flowers Podrick brought for her and tying them with a ribbon. “Pray, what else do I need for my wedding?”

Shae smiled wryly at her. “Clegane means to make you an honest woman, my lady, which is far more important than gowns and hair styles.”

Sansa had no idea what she meant by that, but Shae’s ill-humored tone did nothing to diminish her excitement. After bathing and washing her hair, Shae arranged her hair in a most ornate braided style in the front while leaving the back hanging loose. When she finished, Shae turned Sansa around to face the mirror.

“You look lovely.” Shae raised an eyebrow at her. ”Shall I get your wedded favor?”

“Wedded favor?” Sansa worriedly asked. “In the North our traditions are very different. I have a gift for him to wear; is that enough?”

Shae smiled at Sansa, and for the first time it reached her eyes as she regarded the young woman. “I’m sure it will please him.”

A sharp rapping interrupted them. Shae opened the door.

There stood Jaime Lannister, the sight of the man sending a nervous flutter to her stomach. When Jaime caught sight of her, he dipped his head and grinned, his expression making Sansa all the more uncomfortable. “Ready to wed the Hound, my lady?”

“Ser Jaime, it is so good of you to come for me.” Sansa picked up the gift she made for her husband and then took his arm. “I am ready.” Though she was nervous, Sansa could not help giving him a big smile, and the golden knight laughed outright in response.

“I must say your eagerness is surprising.” His lip curled into a smirk.

“I am quite ready to wed Sandor Clegane, and make no mistake,” Sansa bristled but accepted his arm. “Where is my beloved Sandor?”

“Waiting for you in the sept.” Jaime led her up the stone pathway toward the sept.

“Are we going to the big building overlooking the sea with the seven pointed star?”

Jaime chuckled. “I forgot you are unfamiliar with the Faith of the Seven. No, my lady, that sept is only for the highborn nobility of the Seven Kingdoms. Sandor is too low born to have his wedding there. The sept where you and Sandor will wed is inside the Rock, built especially for the Lannisters private worship.”

“Oh, I see. I do not mind.” Sansa answered, feeling duty bound to answer the golden knight in the affirmative even though his words confused her. Why Sandor’s family’s social ranking would matter to the religious leaders of the Seven baffled her. In fact, everything about their customs seemed confusing and complicated and so unlike the religion in which she was raised. It was no surprise Sandor was not a religious man, if they treated people thusly. If it did not displease Sandor, Sansa decided she would prefer keeping to the old gods of the kelp forest and leave this religion of the Seven to the humans.

“I hope you will not be disappointed, my lady, but there will be no guests at your nuptuals; only me and my brother Tyrion will be in attendance.”

Sansa had never heard that word but quickly ascertained he was speaking of their wedded ceremony. “Oh you must not say such. In fact it is quite the opposite, Ser Jaime: Sandor and I are honored to have two distinguished and honorable members of House Lannister as our guests.”

Jaime gave her a wry look and then nodded. An uncomfortable silence fell between them and so Sansa offered, “In the north, wedded unions are reverent, solemn ceremonies observed by the families of the couple alone.”

“I see. I haven’t had the opportunity to spend much time up there, my lady. What would you recommend as necessary viewing for a visit?”

Anxiously Sansa searched her mind; she seemed to remember her brothers speaking of great mountains and vast moors on their visits there. She and Arya had listened in rapt attention, and so Sansa said, “The moor lands are ruggedly beautiful, though some find them hauntingly so. If that is not to your liking, perhaps you would enjoy visiting the great mountains covered in snow that are dotted with wildflowers.”

Jaime’s deep green eyes glittered with amusement and a sadder, more solemn sentiment followed. “I know where you are truly from, my lady.” He made a flapping motion with his hands. “Varys told me and my brother but no one else at the Rock knows. Do not fret; your secret is safe with us.”

Stunned, Sansa froze. Certainly Sandor would not tell them. How could this have happened?  “How long have you known?” She finally managed.

“I suspected something was amiss when I saw Sandor carrying you ashore. After much prying, Varys finally gave in and told us when you accompanied him out to sea.” Jaime patted her hand. “I know Joffrey killed your father, Sansa. I am so very sorry.”

Swallowing hard, Sansa began trembling violently. “I-I don’t understand.” Instinctively she began searching their surroundings for signs of Sandor but they were too far from the sept. Would he feel her distress? She could not be sure, and in the meantime she would have to say something to the man in response. Summoning her courage, she asked warily, “Why would Varys tell you and no one else? And why would you help me if you know the truth?“

“My brother and I discovered Varys’ secret long ago, my dear lady, and since we then we have helped him maintain his identity among us.” Jaime paused so Sansa could digest his words. “He knew your father during the war, as did I, though I never saw him in his natural state. I have also kept his true identity secret from the king.”

“Why would you do that for my father?” Sansa suddenly stopped to face him and removed her hand from his grasp. “What do you gain from it? You must know I have nothing to offer you for such a deed.”

“You misunderstand me, Lady Sansa. Varys serves the realm, not just himself. That’s a rare thing. Your father did the same, though he was far more honorable than Varys. He was good for the king; as Varys is good for Cersei. My family is important to me; beyond that I am not willing to divulge more. I’m sure you understand the need to keep certain familial details private.”

He was a human, and Sansa did not understand why he would need to keep secrets. However, she had seen the rather unnatural way he and his sister interacted and chose not to press him further.

“I failed to protect Lord Eddard from Joffrey, my nephew,” Jaime cleared his throat. “You must understand, I feel duty bound to help you and Sandor for the sake of your family.”

“For the sake of _my family_?” Sansa raised her brow archly. It was too little, too late as far as she was concerned. And besides, she and Sandor would have married with or without his interference. Sniffing, Sansa glared at him. “Knights are supposed to protect the weak and you feel guilty, is that it?”

“No. For the sakes of you and Sandor, I meant to say, and your future together.”

Disbelieving, Sansa eyed him warily.

“You are good for Sandor, Sansa,” Jaime shifted uncomfortably. “Though you may find that hard to believe. We grew up together, trained together, served and fought together. Such creates bonds not easily broken, my lady.”

Sansa knew that much was true, for her father often expressed that he felt the same about King Robert. Jaime stared at her levelly as he spoke, and so Sansa nodded to show that she understood his sentiment.

“Sandor has suffered much. I would see him happy, my lady, if only for a brief time. He deserves that. You are the only person to provide that for him.”

Sansa’s mind raced as Jaime spoke. _Why would Sandor’s happiness be only for a short time? What was the golden knight withholding from her? Perhaps it has something to do with my frightening dreams._ Lost in thought, Sansa remained silent, absently staring at the flowers in her wedded bouquet.

“Come now, let’s speak of more pleasant things.” Jaime offered his arm once more. “Look!” He pointed into the darkness. “Your groom has grown impatient.”

Sansa raised her eyes to see Sandor’s heavy black woolen cloak billowing behind him as he increased his stride to meet them. She smiled broadly when their eyes met, catching her breath as she did so. Her future husband certainly made a striking figure in his black leather breeches and matching woolen tunic. His expression, at first dark and threatening, softened as he drank in the sight of her outfitted in her bridal finery.

“Lion,” he growled low as Jaime handed her over to him. “Anything amiss?”

“No, Clegane; we were just talking. Your beautiful bride was most eager to see you.”

“You look so very beautiful, Sandor,” Sansa gushed while brushing the hair away from the burned side of his face tenderly. “I am a very lucky woman indeed.”  Her words were uttered with such sincerity that Sandor did not have the heart to make a jest. Instead, the man stared at her with all his might, his eyes roving over her in an awe stricken, almost worshipful manner.

“That so, little bird?” Sandor finally spoke as he tipped her face up to him and studied her closely. “Just talking, you say?”

“Yes, Sandor, everything is fine,” Sansa shivered under his intense gaze. “Ser Jaime just told me that he and his brother are aware of my true parentage.”

Sniffing, Sandor turned his keen eyes toward Jaime once more. “I know he does, lass. We’ll speak of it later. You must not let it worry you. Come with me now.”

Sandor’s tone made it clear that he did not wish to discuss it further, and so the three made their way to the small septry in silence. When the leaved doors opened to admit them, Sansa stared in awe at the ornate interior of the modest sept. Great sculptures depicting the gods stared down on them ominously, their intimidating poses making Sansa most uncomfortable. The golden glow of the candelabra illuminating the altar somehow lacked warmth, and the brightly colored stained glass of the seven pointed star greatly impressed and yet intimidated the young woman. Nervously Sansa glanced at Tyrion standing next to the septon and she squeezed Sandor’s arm for strength.

She was soon gratified by the feel of his large hand protectively spanning her back, and Sansa smiled up at him gratefully. “This way.” A septon beckoned to them from the altar. Confused, Sansa allowed Sandor to lead her to the front of the sept.

Exasperated, the septon sighed. “Come now, young lady, you must be somewhat familiar with the Faith.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but I am not.” Sansa answered in a hushed tone.

With one hand snaked around her waist and the other resting on her arm, Sandor gripped her tightly.

“She is Lady Sansa of House Stark,” Jaime intoned seriously, casting a nervous glance at Sandor. “Address her as such or you risk offending your liege lord. Am I understood?”

The fat septon vigorously nodded. Jaime moved beside Tyrion, who heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head.

“You may address me as Faithful Brother, my lady.”

“Thank you, Faithful Brother.” Sansa tremulously smiled.

Glaring at the septon, Sandor clenched his jaw and scowled. “Just get on with it, will you, holy man? You got your coin; now do your job.”

Waving his hand over them, Faithful Brother said, “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

Jaime handed Sandor a modest black cloak while Sansa turned her back to him. Trembling hands placed the garment on her shoulders. With a gentle smile, Sansa moved back to her original place by his side and took his arm once more.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” The septon curtly tied their hands with a yellow cloth depicting the three dogs of House Clegane. “Look upon one another and say the words.”

Sansa glanced uncertainly toward Sandor, who cleared his throat and cast a furtive look at the septon.

“Oh yes, forgive me, ser.”

“I’m no ser,” Sandor hissed. “Just go on, will you?”

“Yes, certainly. Repeat after me,” the fat man hurriedly continued. “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger: I am hers and she is mine from this day until the end of my days.”

Sandor turned Sansa’s body toward him and placed her hand over his heart before repeating the vows the septon spoke. Her eyes filled with happy tears, Sansa eagerly gazed into Sandor’s eyes as he recited his promise to her. Afterward, she followed his example and rested Sandor’s hand over her heart before she began.

The septon gave them a startled, disapproving huff but neither of them paid him any mind. With his deep gray eyes riveted to her own, Sandor stared transfixed as Sansa carefully made her vows to him. When she finished speaking, Sandor abruptly took her into his arms and kissed her passionately, pressing her firmly against him as he did so. Faintly Sansa heard Jaime clearing his throat behind them.

“Congratulations Cleganes,” Tyrion offered his hand to Sandor with Jaime following suit. “I’m sure you two will be happy together.” Happily Sansa then held out her hand to the men in return.

Clearly confused by the gesture,  Tyrion and Jaime nevertheless each took her hand and kissed her by turns.

“Oh thank you both so very much,” she gushed as Sandor led her outside the sept. “Sandor and I are very grateful to you.”

Flustered, Sandor stood woodenly beside her and nodded at them. Tyrion and Jaime laughed and nudged him on the arm as each man made took his leave. “We’ll leave you two to the honeymoon then.”

When they disappeared from sight, Sandor wasted no time sweeping Sansa up in his arms with a devilish grin. “Come wife, it’s time to _seal our union_ once more.” He rasped lasciviously in her ear.

The warmth of his breath on her skin sent a wave of lust through her. Blushing, Sansa buried her face in the crook of his neck and began nibbling below his ear as Sandor eagerly carried her back to the cottage.


End file.
